


Assuage

by Terminallydepraved



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Batman AU, Bondage, Collars, Dom/sub Undertones, Drugs, Kidnapping, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Ownership, Rimming, Violence, batman!silva, catwoman!chrollo, lots of kittens, robin!kalluto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-09 06:44:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 46,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7790908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terminallydepraved/pseuds/Terminallydepraved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silva grabbed his thin wrist, pulling it from his chest. “What do you think you’re doing?” he snarled, disguising his voice so he too wouldn’t be recognized. </p><p>Because he wore no mask, Silva could see how the thief raised a perfect brow, sassing him without saying a word. “What’s it look like?” he said, sassing him out loud now. “I thought I’d see how close I could get to the big bad Bat without getting bitten. Turns out, I can get pretty close.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys i did this long ass thing really fast and im proud of it so i hope you like it!

Another glass of champagne found his hand, pressed into it by a faceless server in a crowd of faceless people. Silva sighed and pretended to sip it, far too used to these sorts of galas to refuse the alcohol.

He had a reputation to keep up. After all, a lush and playboy couldn’t be seen without a drink in hand, lest the tabloids begin to think he was entering rehab again.

Silva wandered from his corner, actually taking a sip of the drink before he entered the fray. His cheeks didn’t quite ache from his vacant smile, but by the end of the night he knew they would. “Dolores,” he schmoozed, inserting himself flawlessly into a group of tittering socialites. “You look absolutely fetching in that dress. Who is it by?”

Her cheeks flushed bright pink beneath her heavy rouge, her gem-heavy hand coming up to be kissed. “Oh, Silvy, you old charmer, you. It’s Dior,” she whispered conspiratorially, coming in close to press her free hand against his chest. “But I’d rather be wearing Gotham’s most eligible bachelor. You aren’t still engaged, are you? That would be so drab.”

Coughing a little, he managed to look acceptably flustered by the first proposition of the evening. “No, I’m afraid Millicent and I didn’t last,” he lamented, waving a server over to fill Dolores’s hands with more alcohol and not his $18,000 tux. “I’m still a bit sensitive from it, so perhaps when I’m not feeling so down.”

She made a moue of disappointment but that fluttered away pretty quickly when the champagne reached her hand. “What a shame, Silvy. You sure do know how to make a girl wait,” she grumbled. She downed half the glass in one pull, and it went right to her head. “What if you find some other girl to fall into bed with? I’d never forgive you if you do.”

He patted her hand and sighed, fixing his grin into place. “I’d never forgive myself,” he said, scanning the rest of the crowd subtly for something or someone more interesting to talk to.

This wasn’t a work party, so it wasn’t as if he could lose himself in some intelligent conversation with his employees. Even the art on display, ostensibly the focal point of the evening, was going largely ignored by people who could hardly spell post-modernism let alone appreciate it.

Dolores kept talking in his ear, hanging on his arm as she bad mouthed the other ladies nearby who she just insisted were making eyes at him. Silva made the appropriate noises, humming to keep her going. He had no doubt that by morning there’d be pictures of them in every gossip column.

It was then that he caught sight of something at least more distracting than Dolores. Across the room stood a young man, his arm around the waist of an older woman. While that in itself might not raise any red flags, the quick, masterful motion of him picking her pocket with his free hand did. Silva’s jaw tightened and he cut Dolores off mid word.

“…and she said—”

“Dolores, darling, who is that?” he asked, gesturing to the young, dark haired man slipping the slender pocket book into his own suit jacket. No one would notice the theft. They never did, but Silva was too well trained not to.

She looked up, torn from her tirade with a harrumph. It quickly turned to appraisal once she caught sight of the thief. “Oh, Silvy dear,” she admired, staring at him like a hungry animal eyeing a steak. “You don’t know?”

“No, Dolores, I don’t,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. Who was it? He knew everyone at these sorts of things, and if Dolores knew then it had to be someone on the guest list. A common thief able to sneak in wouldn’t have gone amiss in her careful cataloguing. Her gossip circles wouldn’t allow for it.

She laughed a little, swaying a bit from her tipsy state. “That’s Chrollo Lucilfer,” she explained, blushing as she said the name, as if it tasted scandalous on her tongue. “Isn’t he just delicious? A bit young for me, but I think I’d wear him well.”

Silva watched him steal the string of pearls right off a woman’s neck, and he couldn’t quite find it in him to agree with her assessment. “Dolores, please excuse me,” he said, excusing himself quickly by pushing her towards another man who might prop her up before she listed enough to fall. “I think I’d like to make this stranger’s acquaintance.”

“Oh, Silvy, how scandalous, he’s half your age!” she crowed, laughing into her drink. “Try to leave some for me when you’re done. I could just eat him up.”

He ignored her and left her nursing her drink, his eyes intent on the young, handsome man currently curling up to the art museum’s lead curator. Within a minute he was slipping the man’s diamond cufflinks from his sleeves with skill that spoke of long habit and a confidence that must grate in person.

Chrollo Lucilfer smiled at whatever the man said, his eyes looking far too sincere while he robbed him of every valuable on his person.

“Gerard, how are you?” Silva cut in, saving the man from losing his tie clip too. “It’s been ages, hasn’t it? How are the wife and kids?” He insinuated himself between the curator and the thief, holding his body in a way that protected his own finery without looking outwardly on guard.

The man’s ruddy cheeks broke into a grin and he eagerly shook his hand, fitting since Silva had just paid for the museum’s new preservation wing. “Silva Zoldyck! What a pleasure! Regina can’t stop talking about the flowers you sent her for her birthday. How have you been?”

It made him smile, because out of the corner of his eye he could see just how irritated the thief was getting at being denied yet another mark. He peeked forward, a beautifully crafted smile on his face. “You two seem like you need to catch up, so I’ll just let you be—” he tried, his smooth voice as silken as honey, but Gerard cut in before he could retreat.

“Nonsense, my boy. This here is Silva Zoldyck, the only other man in Gotham who seems to appreciate neo-classicism as much as you,” he insisted, taking their hands to join them in a shake. “Silva, this is Chrollo Lucilfer, an up and coming art appraiser and simply the most interesting young man I’ve had the pleasure to meet in quite some time.”

“Enchanted,” Silva said, wearing his most droll expression and hoping it hid his annoyance.

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine, I assure you,” Chrollo gave, skillfully stealing the Rolex off his wrist with a charming smile.

Gerard took that moment to notice something. “Oh, dammit,” he swore, glaring across the room as some drunken guest swayed dangerously close to a painting with his wine glass filled to the brim. “Please, pardon me you two. I need to save some measure of intellectualism from the inebriated pocketbooks wandering this place.”

“Of course,” Silva said, wishing him the best of luck with that. Gerard was a good man, and he didn’t deserve to have his things stolen or have to clean chardonnay from a painting insured for half a million dollars.

That left him with the thief, the young man lingering by his side with his charming grin on his face and his fingers sticky for more of his possessions.

“So,” he began, looking up at him prettily. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a woman on each arm at one of these things. It’s nice being able to see you unadorned. Humanizing.”

Silva bit the inside of his cheek and somehow, beyond all comprehension, managed a smile that looked sincere. “I get a bit mobbed at these things,” he said, taking in the young man fully.

Boy, more like. He looked hardly old enough to shave. The beautifully tailored suit did much to add some sophistication to his youth, the black offset by pinstripes that highlighted the lovely lines of his trim body. A muted red tie added a subtle accent to his ensemble, making him more debonair than ostentatious, which was more than many at the gala could say about themselves.

“Must be hard, since your fiancée isn’t around to scare off the vultures,” Chrollo teased, snatching up a drink to sip.

“That certainly helped,” he agreed tightly. He went on the offensive. “Gerard said you were an art appraiser? I can’t say I’ve ever heard of your name. Are you new to these sorts of gatherings?”

Chrollo raised a brow, smiling around the rim of his glass. “Oh, I’ve only been in the business for a few months here. I moved here from Central City, and I must say,” he led, looking up at Silva with something reminiscent of Dolores in his eyes. “The art here is much more interesting.”

He wondered if this was how the thief worked, by seducing his marks to lower their guards. Silva smiled, pretending it was working. “Really? Gotham does have a rather rich artistic history. But as an appraiser, you must be familiar with that. Who is your favorite local artist?” he posed, testing how deep the ruse ran.

Without missing a beat, Chrollo answered. “Oh, definitely Ramona Rucell. Her mastery of chiaroscuro and usage of such a subtle color palette really exemplifies the somber tone her paintings evoke.” He paused to sip his champagne, the bubbly alcohol coloring his pale cheeks pink. “She really embodies the Gothamite spirit, I feel. This city is old and has its bright, shining sides, but below, it really is a rather stark and Gothic mistress.”

Silva tried not to grit his jaw, because that would give away his frustration. He figured he wouldn’t be quite so frustrated if he didn’t feel a bit of pride at the way the thief knew his guise. “I agree,” he replied, wondering if he couldn’t have a decent conversation with a person who stole his watch. “You must be quite a fan of the work here tonight. The collection on display is quite lovely.”

Chrollo shrugged, the movement only highlighting his youth. “The art is nice, but the more I come to these things….” He trailed off, sighing.

For one, inexplicable moment, Silva felt the desire to comfort the thief. He swallowed it back and did it anyway, pretending that this was only to keep up the conversation.

“What is it?” he asked, and his eyes widened when Chrollo looked around them. Going up on his toes, he brought himself to Silva’s ear.

His lips traced the shell and Silva bit down on the urge to respond to the proximity. “I’m just so bored by the people,” Chrollo complained childishly. “Can no one have an intellectual conversation without getting propositioned?”

Silva felt the almost imperceptible feeling of his money clip being palmed, and he did nothing to stop it. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but it’s like that at all of these,” he said instead, whispering back. This thief really was talented. “The best thing to do is put on a brave face and stick it out.”

“Or find someone with a brain to talk to,” Chrollo murmured, looking up at him through his thick lashes. “You’re not at all like what the tabloids say.”

It was suddenly difficult to look away from the thief’s pale pink lips. He chuckled a bit, using his height to get some distance. “Oh, I’m exactly like what the tabloids say,” he replied, letting his hand fall to the man’s tiny waist. The tailored fit of his suit cut his body in a perfect shape, accentuating every curve he had. Perhaps some forwardness would scare him off.

Chrollo preened a little, rolling into his side a bit more. It was obvious that forwardness wouldn’t spook him. “I don’t think the tabloids said anything about this,” he breathed, running his hand down Silva’s vest. On his way down, he snatched the tie pin and palmed it down his sleeve. “Or are you just more discreet with the men you pick up?”

If he kept this up, he might succeed in seducing the poor boy, and then Dolores would never speak to him again. The thought was tempting for a moment, but Silva did the responsible thing and pulled away.

“Men?” he asked, teasing a bit with a rare genuine smile. “You hardly look old enough to drink that champagne.”

Seeing Chrollo pout was cuter than it had any right to be. “I’m twenty six,” he huffed crossing his arms. If Silva were any other person, he might have written the move off as annoyance, but he could tell that Chrollo was slipping his spoils that he had stored in his sleeve into his jacket pocket.

His eyes went wide. Twenty six, and with a face like that. “I’ve had scotch older than you,” he mused, loving how red Chrollo’s cheeks were turning.

“Well, that just sounds excessive,” Chrollo groused.

About as excessive as stealing half a dozen wristwatches and a swath of pearls that wouldn’t go well with his complexion. Silva tapped their champagne glasses together and drank, smiling. Perhaps a Rolex, a tie pin, and a money clip were fair pay for an evening of decent conversation and harmless flirting. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t afford it, and with his stressful life, it was good to let loose every now and then.

It still wouldn’t do though to let the thief make off with the rest of the party’s wealth. Some of them, like Gerard, deserved better than that.

“Would you like to get some air with me?” he asked, gesturing towards the hall where he knew the balcony to lie. It was never populated during these things. People always seemed to forget it existed, and he took advantage of that fact when the dullness took its toll.

Chrollo looked up from his sulk, his dark eyes wide. A clever smile curled across his lips, and he tilted his head coquettishly. “It wouldn’t be amiss to have such young scotch gracing your presence?” he asked back.

Silva held out his arm for the thief to take. “If you’re anything like that scotch, you’d be a pleasant burn that puts all else to shame,” he chuckled.

Graceful hands fell to his arm, followed by a slender arm hooking through his. A dark brow rose while the hands fondled his muscle through his suit. “You’re awfully buff for a pencil pushing playboy,” Chrollo observed, following him through the crowd and towards the hallway. Gossip twittered past them, but they both ignored it.

“I try to stay active,” he said, brushing it off. Silva held open the balcony door, guiding the man inside with a hand on his lower back.

“I’ll say, you feel like you’re made of granite,” Chrollo murmured, his eyes going wide as he took in the view. “I sure hope you didn’t take me out here to murder me,” he joked, staring out at the bright cityscape from twenty stories up. “That might ruin the romantic mood you’ve managed to build.”

The night air washed over them, clearing away the stuffy feeling that always seemed to linger on a person after they’d been in close contact with unpleasant drunks all night. Chrollo closed his eyes and sighed, leaning on the stone rail like a cat settling in for a nap.

Silva came up behind him, pinning him to the stone by placing his hands on either side of him. This close, he could smell the cologne he wore. It was nice. Subtle yet pervasive, much like the man himself. “How long have you been pretending to be an art appraiser?” he asked, his lips trailing over the pale, pierced ear half hidden behind thick black locks.

Chrollo, to his ever rising credit, didn’t even flinch. He laughed, supporting his chin on his propped up hand. “Oh, come on,” he whined playfully, turning into Silva’s ministrations. “Anyone can appraise art. You either like it or you don’t, it’s not really something that needs a degree or licensing, right?”

“Many institutions would disagree with you,” Silva replied, dipping his hand into the man’s suit pocket to pull out the stolen spoils the evening had afforded him. “It’s not polite to steal from people.”

Huffing, Chrollo turned in his arms, arching his back a little on the ledge to look up at him. “It’s not polite to be that boring either, but they all still managed it,” he sighed, biting his lip when Silva moved to his pants pockets. “Mr. Zoldyck, I never expected you to be this handsy. Or observant. What a treat.”

It was astonishing how much he’d managed to acquire in such a short evening, and been able to fit in such well fitted slacks at that. He rested it all on the thick stone ledge, laying it out under the city lights to take in.

“You’ve had a busy night,” he admired, taking back his money clip but leaving his watch and pin behind.

“It’s been a fruitful evening,” Chrollo sighed, staring forlornly at the wealth. “So what now? Are you going to have security bust me?”

The question gave him pause. What was he going to do? He’d already stepped outside the bounds of his normal persona. Silvy Zoldyck would never be so observant or serious. Drumming his fingers on the stonework, he cocked his head and took in the pretty thief still trapped between his arms.

Chrollo made it easy on him. He leaned up and sealed their lips together, wrapping his arms around his neck to kiss him as deeply as he could. The thief kissed with everything he had, rolling his hips against the muscled thigh between his legs as another sign of his excitement.

He wasn’t scared at all with being found out. If anything, Silva’s little power play had spurred the man on in whatever game it was that he played at these sorts of events.

Silva would be lying if he told himself that he kissed back just to unbalance Chrollo. His hand moved up to cradle the thief’s cheek, soft pink lips parting to allow him entrance into his warm mouth. Champagne flavored the kiss, sparking between them like the fizz it carried.

The need to breathe was what broke them apart, not the impropriety of the situation or the stolen loot beside them. Chrollo gasped prettily for air, and the sight made Silva want to see it more, preferably in his bed.

“I like the way you treat thieves, Mr. Zoldyck,” Chrollo teased, running his hands along Silva’s broad chest, popping buttons as he went.

“I’m only nice to the pretty ones,” he said, and that, if nothing else, sounded like a Silvy thing to say.

Chrollo leaned up to kiss him again, but the sound of approaching footsteps out-weighed the need for more contact. Silva, with a hand on the thief’s shoulder, pushed him away gently.

“I think you need to get going,” he whispered, looking down at the trinkets littering the stonework ledge. “Give back Gerard’s things and I’ll pretend I never saw any of this.”

“You’ll remember me though, won’t you?” Chrollo asked, a note of want cutting through the tension. “I could start to like these things if I saw more of you.”

Silva laughed quietly, allowing himself one last kiss before he turned towards the door. The party would no doubt be missing him soon if he didn’t leave now. “I’ll think of nothing but you,” he promised, and for once, it wasn’t just a line.

Poised against the balcony rail, looking well on his way to debauched, Chrollo waved at him with a smile on his soft lips. “Goodnight, Mr. Zoldyck.” A breeze blew past, ruffling his dark hair. “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing more of each other.”

But Silva was already gone, certain of the same thing.


	2. Chapter 2

Silva sighed and loosened his tie, traversing the stone steps that led to the batcave with an ease born of familiarity and deep-seated habit. Granted, he’d spared Gerard and other marks like him their jewelry and money, but for the Dolores’s of the party, well, Silva hadn’t felt so inclined to hand them back the wealth they would hardly miss.

It’d been a long evening, and an exciting one at that, but now that the party had ended, he felt it about time to get some actual work done.

“Kalluto,” he called out, scanning the cave for his robin. “What have the police scanners picked up so far?”

The large chair in front of the monitors spun around, showing Kalluto curled up in the leather piece. His small legs were a good six inches from reaching the floor, his head not even showing over the back.

“Not much,” he answered, tapping at the keyboard with his gloved finger. “Some rich person from your gala reported some diamonds missing.” Kalluto wrinkled his nose, probably grateful Silva didn’t force him to attend this one. “You’d think they’d be able to afford some new ones.”

Silva sighed, coming up to lean on the chair back and see for himself. “That’s what I said,” he murmured, reading the police report. He recognized the name of the disgruntled partygoer. His eyes widened a bit when he saw they included a description of the thief, one that fit Chrollo perfectly. It was only missing his name.

Small eyes look up at him, Kalluto frowning a bit. “What you said?” he huffed, kicking his feet through the empty air. “What, did you see the thief? It’s not like you not to do something about it.”

It would be in bad form to avoid his own kid’s eyes, so he looked down at him, schooling his face. “When I said you should practice your detective skills, I didn’t mean to do so on me,” he chastised, but Kalluto merely rolled his eyes.

The child crossed his arms, blowing cheekily at his bangs so they fluffed away from his eyes. “You’re not fooling anyone, dad. The thief must have been really something if you let him steal things right under your nose.”

Bright eyes took him in from below, widening with the boy’s smile when Kalluto began to giggle. “I wonder where your watch went,” he said pointedly, smirking behind his hand.  

Silva put a hand on his head, messing up his carefully styled hair in response. “Suit up,” he grunted, tipping the chair so Kalluto tumbled out. “We’re going on patrol.”

Kalluto perked up. “We are?” he asked excitedly, racing over to the uniforms kept at the far wall. “Do I get to drive?”

“Not unless I’m shot and unconscious,” he grunted, still looking at the police report. He knew the woman filing it, and he knew the type of man her lover was. “Bring extra smoke pellets,” Silva called out over his shoulder. “We’re going to be in mob territory tonight.”

It wouldn’t hurt to look into this a bit more, just to make sure a police report was just a police report. Thieves had been killed for less in Gotham, and Chrollo seemed the type to leave an impression.

Kalluto was already in his uniform by the time Silva made his way towards the changing area. “Come on,” he groused, nervous energy making him hop on the balls of his feet.

“I’m going,” Silva sighed, unbuttoning the tux shirt. “Go wait by the car. Double check your belt while you wait. I don’t want any excuses in the field tonight.”

“Yes sir,” Kalluto said, dutifully going to the car with only a little grumbling.

He was a fairly even tempered kid, far better behaved than Killua or Milluki, but Silva supposed sitting down on monitor duty while he schmoozed at a party didn’t allow much of an outlet for pent up energy. He made a mental note to call Illumi away from Bludhaven soon, and give Kalluto another acrobatics routine to work on in the cave when he found himself with free time like he had tonight.

Leaving the cowl down, he clasped the cape into place and reached for his own belt, already loaded and waiting for him. His hair went up in a high ponytail, his boots snapped into his calf armor; before long, he was dressed and ready and heading to the car, where Kalluto had made himself comfortable while he waited.

“Don’t sit on the hood,” Silva said, snapping his fingers. Kalluto jumped to attention and off his freshly waxed finish.

“Sorry, dad.”

“We’re in the field,” he teased a bit, raising a brow.

Kalluto smiled, laughing a little. “Sorry, Batman.”

The car door closed with a hard click and he turned to make sure Kalluto had his seatbelt on. “Keep an eye out for gossip and talk on the street tonight,” he said as he drove them from the cave, cutting through the waterfall entrance to get to the main road that would take them into the city.

“Anything in particular I should be listening for?” he replied, tapping his gloved fingers on the armrest. His domino mask hid his eyes from sight, his sharply cut bob brushing his cheek when he cocked his head. “Is this about that police report? You must really be impressed by that thief to care this much.”

“What did I say about cold reading your father?” he sighed, pulling his cowl over his face and cutting the wheel to skid them around a corner. If he was a bit hard on the gas, he’d blame it on the empty roads and uncharacteristic road rage.

Kalluto smiled and turned to the window, watching Gotham roll by, as bright as she ever was even in the dead hours of night. The conversation ended there, Silva losing himself in his thoughts as he steered them towards the warehouse district. The woman’s lover was a prominent don here in the city, so to best learn his intentions, one simply had to ask the men he commanded.

They always seemed to be much more forthcoming when a little leverage was applied.

He stopped the car in a back alley, exiting and turning on the safety protocols that would keep it protected while they were away. Robin came to stand by his side, waiting for the night’s orders.

“I’ve had Oracle monitoring these warehouses for the past four months, and we have intel telling us that there has been increased traffic both to and from the docks to a warehouse here,” he rattled off, taking out a grapple, waiting for Kalluto to do the same before he shot and rappelled to the roof.

“Drugs or arms?” Robin asked quietly, his already gentle voice a whisper in the windy rush the rooftops always held.

“Drugs,” he informed, guiding them through the forest of warehouses until they came to one that by all rights, should have been dead given the hour. Light and sound rose from the thin industrial windows, giving away the criminal activity within far more than any intel that could have been found through monitoring gang chatter and tapping phones.

Silva would have to thank Milluki for the work he did. As blatant as this was, it would still have been a lot of effort hunting through every warehouse until they came upon it.

Slipping his fingers beneath the building’s skylight, Silva lifted it up to let Robin crawl inside. He followed him in carefully, resting alongside his kid on a narrow rafter high above the activity on the work floor below.

“There’s a lot of them in here,” Kalluto whispered, taking them all in. Even from here, the scent of stale booze and cigarette smoke was thick and acrid.

He put his hand on the thin shoulder, quieting him while he took in the scene.

They watched from above while the men wander the warehouse floor, stacking crates and filling others with what looked to be drugs. Silva went into the mindset that always greeted him when duty called. His sensors told him that there were thirty three men scattered about the floor, most with semi-automatics and others with simple handguns.

“Robin,” he mouthed, letting Kalluto read his lips so as not to alert anyone of their position. “Go around back and flank. On my mark, throw the smoke pellets and start taking them down. Don’t take any chances.”

Kalluto looked down at the men and then to him, squaring his shoulders with a nod. His disappeared without a sound, navigating the scaffolding and rafters as gracefully as any acrobat. Illumi had definitely taught him well, Silva thought. Soon, he might even put his brothers to shame.

Turning back to the situation at hand, Silva targeted the leader of the operation. He needed to mark him and separate him from the rest when the bullets began to fly. He would have the most information, and that made him the priority figure to be apprehended.

Moving carefully in the shadows, he lurked above the man in question. He was already sequestered towards the door, shouting angrily into his phone while his men worked around him. Silva looked off, pinpointing Kalluto who had just moved into position.

He made the gesture, trusting Kalluto to act as he shot a line and jumped from his perch.

Screams and gunfire filled the air three seconds later, the gas pellets turning the warehouse into an unreadable mass of fog. Silva grit his teeth and grabbed the leader by the collar, ripping him from his feet before his phone had time to fall to the concrete floor.

“Who is funding this place,” Silva snarled, slamming the man against the wall hard enough to punch the air from his lungs. His feet dangled half a foot off the ground, Silva supporting him easily. “Tell me or I break you.”

“Oh, God, not you!” the man cried, his hands going to Silva’s heavy gauntlets, scratching pathetically at the reinforced Kevlar. Behind them, Silva could hear men screaming similar things, falling one by one to each other’s bullets and Robin’s fists.

“God can’t help you now,” Silva said, throwing him again against the steel wall. “Tell me who you work for!”

The man crumpled like wet tissue paper, tears and snot running down his flushed face like a blubbering baby. “Falcone!” he stammered, his legs kicking wildly but doing nothing. “Don Falcone! Just let me go! Don’t kill me—”

“What orders has he given you tonight?” he pressed, making his voice harsh like gravel. “I know he’s contacted you. Details. Now.”

At this point, the man couldn’t hold out even if he’d wanted to. Falcone really had gone soft in his old age, hiring on such weak capos. “We have to move the goods!” he sputtered, flinching when Silva drew back a fist as if to hit him. “And we got new orders! He-he-he wants us to kill—”

This time, it was an explosion that cut the leader off before he could finish his thought. A loud bang sounded, a white light cutting through the warehouse with blinding intensity. Silva rammed the man back, slamming his head into the metal hard enough to knock him out. That wasn’t according to plan.

His eyes were spared the glare of the flashbang due to his lenses, but the rest of the mobsters weren’t as fortunate. “Robin!” he snarled into the comm, grabbing at the nearest gun being fired wildly into the clearing smoke. “What happened?!”

“I don’t know!” Kalluto replied, sounding a bit breathless but no worse for wear. “I did what you said, I don’t know where that flash grenade came from.”

Silva growled, absolutely infuriated, and tore through the warehouse, taking advantage of the blindness afflicting everyone to tear the guns from their hands and disable them before someone got killed by friendly fire. “Call the cops and take out anyone who is still conscious,” he ordered, shooting a grapple and coming out onto the roof.

“Where are you going to be?” Kalluto huffed, the sounds of combat audible over the transmitter.

He exited the warehouse and breathed in clean, gunpowerless air, looking for any sign of movement. “I’m going to find out who threw that flashbang,” he said, cutting his comm and turning his senses to the rooftops closest to him.

There was nothing in sight but he didn’t let that discourage him. He knew these rooftops better than any, and he knew all too well how many nooks and crannies there were to hide a body from sight. Bringing his hand to his temple, he turned on his thermal scanner, looking for any readings that would give him an idea of where their little helper disappeared to.

Fading red footsteps led to the ledge of the building, continuing on to the next building’s roof. Silva took a running start and leaped the gap between the roofs, landing quietly on the stone. Here, the footsteps were a brighter red, nearly orange, telling him he was getting closer.

He kept up his scan, crossing to another building, and then another, the chase wearing on long enough that he began to suspect that his prey was playing with him. Gritting his teeth, he tried to hold back the frustration at the thought.

He had enough enemies with proclivities towards the immature, and the last thing he needed was another to add to the ranks.

“Stop running!” he said, cutting through the air. The tracks were bright white now, fresh as could be. A shadowy alcove caused by a slanted roof hid his quarry from sight. “Come out and face me.”

There was silence, broken only by the traffic far below on the streets. Silva tightened his hands into fists. If he had to, he’d drag them into the light himself.

He heard the laugh before it came down to that, the sound smooth like aged malt and just as enticing.

Tight, black leather stuck like a second skin to the man who sauntered from the shadows, wearing the night like a well-tailored suit. “Well, if it isn’t the big bad Bat,” a familiar voice sang, the unmistakable form of Chrollo Lucilfer painfully apparent. “Fancy running into you here.”

He didn’t even wear a mask, his face only hidden by a pair of goggles that sat atop his cat-eared leather hat. Silva didn’t know what made him angrier, the flippant tone or the sloppy disguise.

“You’re the one who threw the flashbang,” he grated, leaving no room for a question in his voice. “Why.”

“Not even going to ask my name?” he pouted, crossing his arms petulantly.

Silva almost fell back into the rhythm they’d had before, but stopped himself from asking the question the cat wanted to hear. This was his territory. His city. New players weren’t welcome, especially ones with no sense of professionalism. What a waste of potential.

Chrollo shifted his weight and sighed, resting a hand on his popped hip. The cat suit clung to him beautifully, emphasizing every curve his body held. He had thought the outfit from before suited him, but this was another level of seductive entirely.

“Well, if you won’t ask, I’ll just tell you,” he went on, strolling forward to circle Silva, just out of reach. “I’m Stray.”

Stray. Given his line of work, he could have definitely done worse. “Why did you interfere,” he asked again, this time stonier. He didn’t follow the thief’s movements. Watching his hips sway while he walked was hardly beneficial to the situation. “You could have gotten someone killed.”

Chrollo looked at him through his lashes, just as devastating now as it had been before. “You looked like you needed some help, is all,” he said breezily. “Aren’t you going to thank me? I saved you and your little birdie too.”

He fixed his expression into a steely scowl, staying still as the cat burglar fit himself into his personal space with no concern given to his own safety.

Gloved hands with vicious steel claw tips fell to his chest, Chrollo staring up at him with a look not unlike the one he’d given Silva earlier during the gala.

“You found me so fast too. I’ve barely even started out in this city and you’ve already come to say hello,” the cat purred up at him, his cat suit unzipped impractically low. “You sure do know how to make a thief feel special. It’s enough to give me some ideas. My night’s been one big tease so far, so I could use a man with some conviction.”

Silva grabbed his thin wrist, pulling it from his chest. “What do you think you’re doing?” he snarled, disguising his voice so he too wouldn’t be recognized.

Because he wore no mask, Silva could see how the thief raised a perfect brow, sassing him without saying a word. “What’s it look like?” he said, sassing him out loud now. “I thought I’d see how close I could get to the big bad Bat without getting bitten. Turns out, I can get pretty close.”

He responded by grabbing the other wrist, dragging the petite man towards a nearby fire escape. There really wasn’t time for this.

“Woah, what are you doing?” Chrollo laughed, tripping a bit as he was manhandled to the wall. “You’re much more forward than everyone told me, but if you’re into it, I can deal.”

“Shut up,” he grunted, pulling out his handcuffs.

Dark eyes widened before softening a heartbeat later, Chrollo’s mouth curling into a sultry smile. “Oh, Batman,” he crooned. “We’ve only just met.”

Silva grit his teeth as a thigh wrapped around his hip, pulling him closer to the trim figure below. He was still wearing that damnable cologne, made all the more distracting when he bared his throat and tugged playfully at his already low zipper.

Bracing his gauntlet against the wall, he let himself have a moment to take it all in. Just one moment. Then, he’d throw the thief to the cops like he should have done during the gala.

Chrollo tugged at the hand wrapped around his wrists, testing his hold with a grin. “You don’t say much, do you?” he murmured, rolling his hips into Silva’s cup. “I wish you would be more fun. I was left hanging already once this evening, and I’d rather not make it the night’s running theme.”

He knew logically that it was impossible for him to feel the hot press of the thief against him, but somehow, the heat still bled through. A breath left him in a low growl, Chrollo shivering against his chest at the sound. Whatever had been built between them during the gala, it hadn’t faded in the slightest, even with Chrollo none the wiser to his identity.

An incessant beeping in his ear broke him from his lust, Kalluto on the other line.

“Robin,” he answered, turning away a bit to answer the call. The thief stared up at him with a confused look until he realized he was on a communicator.

“Batman,” he replied, sounding a bit hurried. “I gave the guys to the cops and I found some stuff in their phones that we need to analyze back at the cave. Where are you? I lost sight of you after the flashbang went off.”

Silva glared a bit at Chrollo, the young man waiting patiently by grinding against him. “I’m engaged with a thief,” he gave, holding Chrollo a bit tighter and opening his cuffs. He hooked the first to the fire escape near the cat’s shoulder, dragging his wrists up to lock the second into place. “Meet me by the car.”

“Oh, is that the little birdie I’ve heard so much about?” Chrollo asked, licking his glossy lips. “Did you send him to bed so the adults can play?”

Before he could reply, he found his mouth occupied by the thief’s. Chrollo surged forward, using the leg he had wrapped around him for leverage to pull them closer. A shy tongue flicked against Silva’s lips, begging for more, and Silva squeezed the hand around his wrists hard enough to make the bones creak.

“What are you doing?” he asked into the sweet mouth gasping against his own. He only kissed back to get information, he told himself. The grip he had on the thief only loosened to pull him in closer to hear.

A smile tinged the embrace, teasing the kiss. “Distracting you,” Chrollo moaned, his freed hands trailing down the suit to feel his muscles. “Is it working?”

Silva furrowed his brow but was too slow to pull away before the metallic click of the cuff cut through the haze. The last cuff in his lax hand locked around his own wrist, Chrollo’s clever fingers fixing it tight with a cheeky kiss to his nose.

The anger hit him too slow to matter, the cat thief slipping from his arms like smoke. “Get back here!” he snarled, yanking hard enough at his bound wrist to make rust rain down atop him from the fire escape.

Chrollo laughed, bright and cheerful in the night air, waving at him from the edge of the building. “Oh, Bats,” he sighed, his fingers touching his kiss swollen lips. “It’s cute that you want me so much, but I really must be on my way. Maybe next time, when the little birdie isn’t waiting for you.”

By the time he found the key and had freed himself from the cuffs, the cat had already run off, lost in the night around him.

“Batman?” Kalluto reported in again, his voice soft and confused. “You’re taking a while just to handle a thief. Is everything alright?”

Silva sighed and reattached the cuffs to his belt, thumbing at the comm. “I’m on my way right now.” He pulled out his grapple and shot off a line, making a bee line to the car. “We’ve got a new player in town to add to the database.”

He could hear his robin’s confusion and surprise. “Really? Is it just a thief?”

‘Just a thief’ was almost a disservice to what Chrollo embodied. He landed heavily on the pavement next to the car, startling Kalluto from the hood of the batmobile. “We’ll talk about it later,” he said, opening the door and sliding into the driver’s seat, his robin following suit. “And don’t sit on the hood of the car.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nsfw stuff in this chapter just fyi

Sitting in front of the computer, Silva sighed into his hands. Displayed on the screen were the contents of the many cellphones and emails they’d been able to gather from the raid the night before. All contained the same thing.

Don Falcone had placed a hit on Chrollo Lucilfer to the tune of $500,000.

Silva rubbed tiredly at his eyes and glared at the information, as if by sheer force of will he could make it change into something not quite so ominous. There was no photo of Chrollo thankfully, but the description the missive included was detailed enough that the danger was anything but light. A newspaper sat at his elbow, proclaiming that another stream of thefts had broken out the night before, attributed to Gotham’s newest masked cat burglar.

He sighed again, drawing the attention of his youngest. If only Chrollo wore a mask.

“Are you still staring at that?” he called out from the practice mats. Kalluto slid smoothly into the next stretch, bending his back like a contortionist in a show of flexibility that Silva could scarcely remember ever having himself. “It’s just that one thief you’re so interested in, right? He should be able to take care of himself if he’s as good as you seem to think he is.”

“That’s not really the point, Kalluto,” he answered, scanning through the names of all the recipients of the hit. There were some real heavy hitters included. Names that he knew Chrollo couldn’t handle.

He doubted anyone without combat training or meta-human abilities could last very long against someone like the Magician. Chrollo, lacking either, really didn’t stand as much of a chance as Kalluto seemed to think he did.

Based on that alone, Silva felt compelled to do something about it.

Standing up, he looked at Kalluto. “Suit up, Robin,” he decided, already moving towards the changing area. “We’re going out.”

“To save your thief?” he asked, executing a perfect backbend before pulling himself to his feet.

“To get some information,” Silva growled, shoving his feet into the reinforced boots.

His tone ended any further conversation as they dressed and got into the car. Once they began driving though, Kalluto’s curiosity couldn’t be deterred. The boy looked at him sneakily, swinging his legs in the seat.

“So where are we going to get information?” he questioned softly, no doubt watching with eager eyes for any ticks or clues Silva might give away subconsciously.

As necessary as it had been to train him in body language and such, he never intended it to be used on him so thoroughly. Choosing his words carefully, he kept his eyes on the road. His muscles relaxed so as to give away nothing.

“We’re going to stop by Marlow,” he said smoothly, cutting the wheel to turn them down a street that’d take them near the wharf. “He tends to know things about Falcone’s operations.”

Kalluto wrinkled his nose. “I don’t like that man,” he informed. “He smells bad and he’s squirrely. He doesn’t seem trustworthy to me.” The boy turned to look out the window, ostensibly counting streets as they passed.

Silva was inclined to agree, but he was the best source of information available short of Falcone himself. Marlow was just a lowly foot soldier, but his sticky fingers and absent-minded capo allowed him access to all sorts of confidential things normally reserved for only senior officers. The fact that his services could be bought as well made him a semi-trustworthy informant.

“You should never trust them, Robin, but even gangsters have their occasional uses.”

He took them down near the pier, parking the car far from the meeting spot. They were still in a residential area, the streets abandoned with the late hour and danger that was endemic to a slum district.  The dumpster here would provide cover, and the natural solitude would do the rest.

A small hand fell to his arm before he could open the door. Kalluto looked up at him through his domino, his delicate features a mask. “What do you want me to do while you get the information?” he asked, looking at the warehouses near the dock. “I’m not exactly good for your intimidation factor.”

That was true. He looked at his son and thought for a moment. He couldn’t just let him sit here in the car all night. “I want you to scan the perimeter,” Silva decided, patting the boy on the head. “Make a circuit around the meeting spot and be on alert in case something goes south and I need back up. If you see anything suspicious, investigate cautiously. We’re not out here to be taking changes.”

The dark haired boy nodded, a small smile on his lips. “Yes, sir,” he stated, turning to open his door and get out. “Will you be in the normal spot?”

“That’s the plan,” Silva said, following his lead. A cool wind rolled in off the sea, carrying with it the scent of old fish and brine. “We’ll split up here and go to our objectives. Be careful.”

Kalluto pulled out his grapple and shot him a quick “you too,” before shooting and climbing to the nearest roof. He disappeared into the night like a shadow cut from the cloth of the city itself. Silva let a flicker of pride kindle in his chest at the display.

That taken care of, he turned to the warehouse and shot his own line, traversing the roofs until the meeting spot lay below. A quick activation of his thermal scanner told him that Marlow was inside, no doubt wondering why he’d been called out so suddenly. He hadn’t given him much reason for why he needed the meeting, but Marlow was a loyal dog who barked on command, so he hadn’t argued when the summons flashed on his phone.

Silva made his entrance dramatic, dropping directly behind the informant without even a shuffle of fabric to alert him to his presence. He gave himself a second or two to analyze the state of the man before him. He was armed, but that came as no surprise given the occupation the man called his own. A sheen of sweat curled the hair on the back of his neck.

“I need information,” he growled, savoring the way the man jumped and spun, his hand going for his gun before his brain registered who was before him. “Falcone. The Lucilfer hit. Talk.”

“Jesus fuck, why you gotta sneak up on me like that?!” Marlow wheezed, clutching his heart.

“Cut the theatrics, Marlow,” Silva pushed, looming over the informant. Even without the lifts in the boots, he towered over him. “I want to know everything you know.”

The man ran a hand through his greasy hair, his watery brown eyes flicking to the exit nervously. “Not much else to tell, Bats, it’s pretty loud on the street right now,” he rattled. “Falcone’s woman lost her diamonds and he ain’t puttin’ up with that kind of disrespect.”

They were cheap diamonds that weren’t worth the $500,000 manhunt. Silva could have guessed this came down to bruised pride. He tightened his hands into fists and let his gaze bore into the man. “Tell me names,” he growled. “Heavy hitters. Who’s hunting him? How are they doing it?”

“God, Bats, why you so hung up on some piddly thief?” Marlow laughed nervously. “All the big names are comin’ in on it. It’s a load of money, so they all are streamin’ outta the woodwork to find the fucker. Word on the street is that Falcone scraped up a camera shot of the thief and is handin’ it out to the bid names. You hear even the Terminator is comin’ up from whatever hellhole he calls home for this?’

Silva didn’t answer that, his thoughts stuttering on the fact that they now had a photograph. It was worse than he thought.

“We’re done here, Marlow. Go home and keep out of trouble,” he grunted, making for the door.

The Magician was one thing, but giving the men a picture of Chrollo, even a grainy shot from a security camera, would make it near impossible for the thief to avoid detection. Given Chrollo’s propensity to wander the city streets at night with his face uncovered, it would only be a matter of time.

A whoosh of movement caught his attention but before he could turn to look, a chemical-soaked ragged covered his nose and mouth. Silva’s eyes went wide. He swung out a fist but it fell wide. There was no time for another try. A blow to his solar plexus staggered him enough to get him to take a deep, ill-advised breath.

Sloppy, his mind screamed, already falling towards black. Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy…

He awoke to a gun in his face and his informant behind it, his panicked, rodent-like face doing its best to appear steadfast. With a sigh, he looked up at him, shaking his head with disappointment.

“Marlow, what are you doing?” he asked, testing the give on the ropes. “We had a good system in place. Are you really going to throw it all away like this?” As pathetic as he was, Marlow had done a decent job with the knots. There was no slack to let him twist his hands, an unlucky knot tied right on top of his glove’s built in rasp.

“Falcone is offerin’ more than I can count for that damn thief,” he said, his voice shaking as much as his aim. “Imagine what he’d give me for you too.”

If Silva had a dollar for every time he’d been tied to a chair and told he was going to die, he wouldn’t even need the family fortune to fund his exploits. He glared at the thug and took pride in how he flinched under the look.

“This won’t end well for you,” he informed him. “Trust me.”

The gun came up to eye level, held shakily between his eyes with a hand that trembled. “Shut up!” the man shouted, sweat pouring off his face. “I’m gonna make it big with this, Falcone will give me my own cut once I give him your head.”

“Or he’ll throw you in the harbor for trying to rise above your station,” Silva offered. He knew these sorts of men. Nameless soldiers trying to climb the next rung in hopes of something a little less dangerous and a lot more profitable. “I’ve seen this a dozen times before. You’re going to die and someone more powerful will take all the credit. Be smart. Stop this before you dig yourself even deeper.”

Sweat dotted pallid skin, the thug taking a shaky breath. “No,” he muttered, inching closer cautiously. “No, you’re lyin’, I’m gonna make my mark.”

He pulled back the hammer with his thumb, readying himself to shoot.

Silva’s eyes widened when a piece of rebar came flying from somewhere behind him, hitting the man square in the head. The gun went off, the bullet barely scraping past the ear of his cowl. Ears ringing and jaw tight, Silva let out a harsh breath.

There was silence for all of a minute before his rescuer finally spoke. It wasn’t Robin.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Chrollo crooned, punctuating his entrance with the thump of the body falling to the floor unconscious.

Silva didn’t bother turning his head to look at him. He just grit his teeth and prayed Kalluto would find him before this got out of hand.

“Are you ignoring me?” the thief probed, coming around to stand in front of him. “Maybe you got hit harder than I thought. It didn’t look like that good of a punch. Getting too old for this, B?”

His suit was again, unzipped impractically low, his lovely face spared a mask. Because of that, his pout was more than visible, the full bottom lip shiny with what looked like lip gloss. A bright flush sat high on his cheeks and for some reason, he seemed distracted. Was he sick? He didn’t quite look like he was suffering from a cold or a fever.

“Untie me,” Silva grate, deigning to look him in the eye. “We need to talk.”

“That doesn’t really seem as much fun as what we could be doing, though.” Chrollo crossed his arms, tapping at his chin with a finger and he thought. “I could let you go,” he reasoned in a way that told Silva he was going to become very well acquainted with this chair, “but what kind of villainous scourge of the city would I be if I simply let the big bad Bat free without getting what I wanted first?”

“The kind that doesn’t get thrown off a roof by said Bat,” he all but snarled, nearly biting the hand that reached for his face.

“You know, it’s manners like this that make me not want to untie you,” Chrollo huffed, sliding into his lap regardless of the threats in the air, both spoken and unspoken. “Or well, your manners and some other things. You could at least say thank you for keeping your stupid bat ears attached to your stupid bat head.”

The hands fell to his chest, fondling the muscle through the body armor. Silva tightened his jaw, already feeling the thief’s hips rolling gently into his own. Beneath the clatter and thrum of the warehouse around them, an insistent hum seemed to emanate from Chrollo’s person. He was already hard, his intent clear.

“How long were you standing there watching? I didn’t need your help,” he asked, keeping his face unreadable when Chrollo began kissing along his jawline. Behind his back, he tried again to break the ropes binding him. They held firm though, and Chrollo plastered himself to his chest, rocking into him with a small moan.

“Long enough to see how high strung you are,” he complained, his hands coming down between them to put pressure on the cup that was beginning to feel a bit cramped. “Can’t you just enjoy the moment? I want you, and you want me, don’t you? Let’s have some fun.”

This close, the dark, wanting eyes begging him for all he would give, Silva found it hard to summon his anger. Muscles tight, his breathing carefully checked, he moved the inch it took to seal their lips together, kissing the cat until he was a breathless press of warm, lithe muscle against his front.

“What about Robin?” he asked, trailing his mouth along a sharp cheekbone. “Where is he?”

“Don’t worry about the little bird, I gave him some toys to play with while you play with me. Cute kid, by the way. Very friendly.”

He had no idea what that meant, and he wasn’t sure he cared all that much to find out. Before he could decide for sure, Chrollo went for the zipper at his chest, tugging it down so slowly it nearly stung. His arms strained against the ropes again, jerking harshly in his attempts to get free.

“There are things we need to discuss,” Silva said harshly, trying and failing to keep his eyes above Chrollo’s collarbones. “You’re in danger.”

“The only danger I’m in is of having a poor evening,” the cat murmured back, the hand not on his zipper cupping Silva’s jaw and forcing his eyes to watch him strip. “You wouldn’t want me to have a poor evening, would you?”

Inch by inch, pale skin was revealed, Chrollo staring him in the eye like he knew what he was doing to him and loved every second of it. He bit his lip and fluttered his lashes, the zipper meeting the end of its path somewhere near his navel.

“Untie me,” Silva breathed, his mouth dry and sweat beginning to form at his nape. He could hardly think about the hit now, the warnings quite literally the furthest thing from his mind.

Chrollo gave him a look and tugged the top part of his suit off, letting it pool at his waist. “But why would I do that?” he asked, leaning forward to rub his bare chest against the black and grey of his armor. “It’s every villains’ dream to have the Batman at their mercy, isn’t it? Let me indulge a little, B.”

Silva tore at the rope viciously, bucking Chrollo in his lap as he struggled. “You’re not a villain, you’re a bratty child with a death wish,” he ground, his voice as harsh as gravel. “Untie. Me. Now.”

All he got for his efforts was a laugh and a nearly dislocated shoulder.

“Oh, B, you keep that up and I might just leave you here forever,” Chrollo giggled, going for his belt.

As much fun as it would be to see the cat get shocked, Silva grunted, getting his attention before he tried to unbuckle it. “If you don’t do that right, you’re going to get electrocuted,” he said, watching the graceful hands freeze in place.

“Paranoid much?” Chrollo huffed, a bit surprised. “That seems a little excessive.”

Silva looked at Chrollo and then down at the hands on his belt, rumbling out a laugh. “You’d be surprised how many villains I have going for my belt,” he gave, watching a pink blush tinge the thief’s cheeks. “You need to disengage the traps.”

Chrollo bit his lip, looking at the complicated belt. “How do I do that?” he led, staring up at him winsomely.

Silva quirked a smile, leaning back in the chair. “Why should I tell you?” he asked, savoring the look of indignant betrayal on the thief’s face. He hadn’t taken into account the possibility of not getting his way. What a brat. Why was he trying so hard to keep him alive anyway?

Avoiding his eyes, Chrollo looked pointedly at the wall over Silva’s shoulder. “Because you want me?” he tried, his voice small and vulnerable. Black eyes met his shyly, Chrollo looking so very young as he wrapped his arms around himself. “Right?”

His breath stuttered in his chest, and though he knew it was a ruse, he couldn’t help but be taken in. All he could do was watch as the beautiful thief curled into his chest, kissing at his exposed skin like a kitten lapping up cream in a saucer. Oh, he thought. That was why.

“You want me, don’t you, B?” he murmured, his voice breaking a bit towards the end when he began touching himself on Silva’s lap. A low, heated moan filled the air between them, his head rolling on his shoulder the more he moved his hand beneath the leather still clinging to his waist.

“This is fighting dirty,” Silva growled, watching the hand move, the hips rolling into it.

Chrollo licked his lips, closing his eyes as he shivered under his own touch. “What did you expect?” he moaned, giving him a kiss that wasn’t nearly deep enough. “I’m not a very good kitty.”

And just like that, Chrollo stopped, tugging down the rest of his cat suit until he sat in Silva’s lap, as naked as the day he was born. Silva swallowed on nothing, his mouth a desert, staring at the miles of perfect, pale skin before him, just out of reach.

Chrollo kept his hand on his cock, working himself slowly, torturously, knowing that whatever he did would be one more thing Silva was denied to do himself.

It wasn’t until Chrollo went up on his knees, his other hand reaching back to play with his entrance that Silva finally cracked. His shoulders shook the more he watched, spitting out a “stop” before Chrollo could dip inside.

“Did you want to tell me something?” the thief gasped, his dark eyes blown pure black with his want. He gave his wrist a twist, shuddering as he pulled a dripping vibrator from between his legs. The hum from before grew louder, the origin finally revealed.

The moment he saw it was the moment he promptly stopped thinking. “Second button on the fourth compartment, press it for three seconds and then release,” he said in a rush, bucking his hips in a bid to be freed from his suffocating cup.

How long had he been planning this? Heat rolled through him when he thought about Chrollo running along the rooftops, lurking above in the rafters, shifting every time the toy brushed that spot inside him. It was so stupid, so completely unprofessional and risky that by all rights, Silva should be infuriated.

All he could manage to be was turned on.

Chrollo dropped the vibrator and dove for the belt, his hands slick with what looked like lube as he followed his instructions to the letter. The belt fell free with a muted click and Chrollo tugged at his armor, finding the hidden fasteners with unerring accuracy.

Within a minute, he had Silva bared and erect in the cool air, his hands wasting no time in touching what he found.

“Oh, god,” Silva groaned, his head falling back when Chrollo rubbed them together, the precum and spare lubricant making a mess of them both.

“You’re so big,” Chrollo replied appreciatively, teasing the head with his fingertips. “How are you so big? All over, even. It’s not fair at all.”

“Just,” Silva tried, his entire body on fire, “just let me fuck you.” He took in a lungful of air that didn’t seem to sate, fixing the cat with his most commanding look. “I want inside you, Stray.”

Chrollo leveled him with a look that said he was having far too much fun with having him bound. “What would your enemies think of hearing you like this?” he wondered, going up on his knees to position Silva to his entrance.

Every eager buck of Silva’s hips was met with an inch more of distance between them, Chrollo only continuing once he had full control back in his delicate hands. “B,” he breathed, lowering himself so that the head of his cock teased his entrance. “B, I want you inside me too.”

“Stray,” he groaned, his vision flaring white when he finally began to impale himself on his cock. “Come on, faster.”

“You are just so bossy,” Chrollo complained, his voice high and sharp when he took in inch by glacial inch. “Oh, B, you just fill me up, don’t you?”

He wrapped his arms around Silva’s neck, tangling his fingers in his hair when the cowl afforded him nothing to grip. The pace was kept slow, but it quickly increased once Chrollo found his rhythm. Up and down he moved, Silva bucking up to meet him as much as he could, given the rope binding him to the chair.

The pressure around him was blinding, Chrollo so tight that it was almost hard to believe that he’d been opened up for god knows how long that night, waiting for this opportunity to arise. Silva, kept from using his hands, settled on biting and marking as much pale skin as he could. Every suck made Chrollo tighten around him, every bite bringing a pretty little gasp to his reddened lips.

“Stray, come on,” he grunted, sucking a livid bruise right behind the thief’s ear. “Faster. You can do it. You’re doing so well.”

Chrollo shook, a shiver running down his spine at the words. “Are you praising me?” he laughed brokenly, his pleasure making a mess of his voice. Even though he sounded disbelieving, his cock still twitched between them, sliding wetly against the front of his armor.

“Do you like it when I praise you?” he tried, making his own voice go low and gruff. “You look so good like this, but you can do better. I want you to go faster, harder. You can do it, Stray.”

A keening moan echoed in his ear, Chrollo burying his face in his neck to go faster and harder like he wanted. His thighs trembled against Silva’s from the strain, his entire body moving to satisfy the commands. Silva closed his eyes for a moment and savored it, wondering just how obedient this stray could be if given the right orders.

“B,” he gasped, dragging his lips against Silva’s sloppily. “B, I’m close, are you?”

He kissed him for an answer, putting his all into it until he felt the moan signaling the thief’s release play out against his tongue. “What a good boy,” he rasped, sighing at the tightness that wrung him dry a moment later. “What a good Stray.”

“Call me Chrollo,” the thief begged, rocking against him to ride out his orgasm. “B, please.” His dark eyes were absolutely blown, unshed tears making them glisten like the night sky.

“Chrollo,” he praised, rolling the name on his tongue like wine. “What a good job you did.”

They kissed instead of catching their breaths, Chrollo craving the affection like a touch-starved cat. It was unexpectedly intimate. Silva longed to card his fingers through the dark hair and run his hands along the body he’d been denied the ability to explore.

“Can you untie me now?” he asked, nipping the delicate ear when Chrollo turned his face from him.

“Tired of me already?” the thief chuckled, slowly pushing himself away to snatch up his fallen suit from the filthy floor. “And to think, we just had such a tender moment.”

Silva arched a brow, suddenly distrusting of the tone he heard in the man’s voice. He tugged at the ropes pointedly. “It might still be a tender moment if you untie me now,” he said, tone thinly hiding his irritation.

Chrollo huffed out a sigh, showing Silva his back as he stepped back into the black leather, not caring one bit about the cum dripping down his thighs. “That sounds like a threat to me,” he said, glancing at him over his shoulder. A dusting of pink still covered his cheeks.

“Don’t make it one,” he grated. “Do it before I get angry.”

He cocked his head and placed a hand on his hip, looking far too put together given the events that had just transpired. “Yeah, that definitely sounds like a threat,” the thief sighed, fixing his hat. “I really wouldn’t want you to get the impression that I like being ordered around outside the occasional skeevy warehouse tryst, so I’m going to leave you like this until you learn to be kinder.”

“Chrollo!” he growled, not even carrying if he ripped his shoulder out of the socket, so long as it meant he was free to grab the infuriating cat. “Untie me!”

But Chrollo was already zipping his suit back up, dancing away from the kick he aimed at him. “You know, saying please really does help endear a person to your situation,” he laughed, unreasonably limber for someone who had just been fucked the way he had. “Perhaps your little robin will be nicer to you than me? He seems like a little darling, from the few minutes I spent talking to him.”

Silva’s heart stuttered in his chest. There was absolutely no way he could let Kalluto see him like this, with his dick out and cum all over his suit. “Please,” he said through clenched teeth, glaring through his cowl at the cocky brat walking circles around him. “Please untie me.”

“With a cherry on top?” Chrollo teased. “I should’ve brought a camera. I’d love to have a picture of this hanging above my bed.”

For all his tone though, he relented, coming up behind him to place a knife in his hand. Silva would be angry with himself later for not knowing where he had it stored, but for now, he accepted it with as much grace as he could.

“Now, what do you say?” he whispered into his ear, his hands wrapped around his neck from behind. Soft lips brushed his cheek, and Silva turned to meet them in a lazy kiss.

“Thank you, Stray,” Silva gave, leaving Chrollo breathless when he pulled away.

“Now was that so hard?” Chrollo gave one last kiss before he made for the door. The only indication he had that the thief was moving were the whispers of sound the leather cat suit made as he walked. “We’ll have to do this again sometime, B. Consider it an open invitation if you ever get bored on patrol.”

He sawed at the ropes, wondering if he could manage to free himself quickly enough to catch the thief before he disappeared. It wasn’t likely, but he could still dream.

The thick ropes fell to the floor and the first thing he did was fix himself back into his pants and wipe away the mess on his armor with a disinfectant wipe he kept in his belt’s first aid kit. The next was to reach for his comm, unmuting it to locate where on earth Chrollo had left his robin.

“Robin,” he called, carefully standing up on legs that were far shakier than he wanted them to be. “Robin, what is your location?”

The reply came quickly, which was good. At least Kalluto had been waiting for his call.

“Batman? Where have you been?” he asked, his voice a bit breathy. “I’ve been waiting here for ages.”

He made for the exit. “Didn’t I tell you to watch the perimeter?” he asked, throwing open the rickety door. There was no sight of Kalluto outside, which was both a blessing and an annoyance. “Why did you abandon your post?”

There was a pause before Kalluto replied. “But…didn’t you want me to leave?” he asked, a bit cowed by Silva’s anger. “Stray told me there was a disturbance in the residentials. I went to go take care of it, like you said.”

Silva stopped walking, staring into the night with gritted teeth. Of course Stray said that. “And was there a disturbance?” he pressed, keeping his voice as level as he could. This wasn’t Kalluto’s fault, he told himself.

Another pause. “Of a sort,” he admitted. Before Silva could ask what that meant, he went on. “Where have you been anyway? I thought this was just a routine information drop.”

“I’ve been preoccupied,” he said bluntly, his tone telling enough that he didn’t want to be questioned.

“With a thief, right?” Kalluto asked anyway, as insightful as he ever was about things he was too young to understand.

“Where are you right now, Robin?” he cut, no room for discussion in his voice.

He heard Kalluto huff, no doubt rolling his eyes. “I’m at the corner of 45th and Braxley.”

Silva made for it, using the rooftops to speed up the journey. As much as he hated to admit it, his limbs moved with a grace that spoke of the lack of tension he now felt. His form was perfect when he swung through the air, between the buildings, landing without a sound behind his missing son.

It really should have surprised him more to find his robin playing with stray cats on the sidewalk. He sat cross-legged on the curb, a small kitten in his lap and about five others sniffing and chewing on his cape.

So this is what Chrollo had meant by toys.

“We aren’t keeping them,” he grunted, sending the boy flailing from surprise. “And this is hardly a disturbance, Robin.”

He rounded on Silva, looking up at him with heartbroken eyes.

“But…” he started, scooping up a tiny grey kitten to hold up to him, “but Batman, Stray said they don’t have a mom anymore.” His lower lip trembled, and he looked just about as pathetic as the litter of kittens staring up at him.

Silva stared at the small cat, watching it lick its nose with a pink tongue. Its eyes were bright blue. He realized quickly that given the course of his evening so far, he wasn’t in the right mindset to be authoritative.

In that moment, he was absolutely sure that Chrollo had planned this.

He brought his hand up to his face, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. The kitten meowed pitifully at him and he took it from his son, staring into eyes so blue that they looked like sapphires.

He already had one Stray in his life, he thought, handing the kitten back to Kalluto with a sigh and a nod.

A few more couldn’t hurt.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more nsfw stuff

The window was cracked when Silva finished scaling the side of the apartment building, and Silva glared down at the open invitation. The fire escape boasting a jury of judgemental alley cats watching Silva’s progress. Silva glared at them a bit, and them back at the window nearly welcoming him inside. The damned cat was too presumptuous for his own good. Silva wished he had the willpower to hate it, but all he could manage to muster was a sigh. With security this lax, Chrollo was likely to invite more than just strays to his loft.

He made barely a whisper of sound with his cape and the muted thud of his grapple wrapping around the fire escape was forgettable in the din of the city night. He swung down to land on the rusted metal, giving another sigh at the abysmal safety code violations. Chrollo was aggravating and a brat, but he was good at what he did. The thief could afford to live in a better place than this, three blocks from the slums.

The window sill was littered with half-filled food bowls and saucers, a stopping place for the strays that flocked around the apartment. He was careful not to disturb them as he let himself in, entering the home of the thief with every ounce of stealth he had at his disposal.

For a moment, he wondered if it would have been worth it to smuggle the new additions to his household into here. Chrollo wouldn’t notice a few more strays, and he sorely missed living in a manor free of cat hair.

Dozens of cats wandered the apartment, scattered about the place and on the furniture as if it were their abode and not Chrollo’s. Off towards the hallway, he could make out muted singing below the unmistakable sound of a shower being run. Chrollo was somewhere down the hall, about as prominent as a bullseye screaming to be shot.

Silva sighed, shocked that he hadn’t gotten himself killed yet. He might as well take advantage of the solitude before the thief finished up and came out to get dressed.

The first impressions of his loft didn’t paint Chrollo in a pleasant light, especially factoring in his chosen occupation. The place was a mess of trash and clutter, most of the latter comprised of either cats or stolen loot.

Statues and busts from museums across the country lay balanced precariously on shelves and almost flat surfaces. Beneath his feet were rubies and brooches, bracelets and watches. He frowned when he noticed his own, half hidden beneath the body of a sleeping calico.

Reaching for the string of pearls, Silva thought of all the ways what he was doing was in strict violation of his code. This thief was blatant about his criminal activities, cocky in how he flaunted it. He grabbed the necklace and he knew exactly where it had come from, the woman from the gala having looked heartbroken that she’d lost it.

He scowled down at them, questioning why he’d even come to warn Chrollo.

He was torn from his thoughts when something hit his foot, a small, hissing black kitten attaching itself to him with a vengeance. “What’s this?” he muttered, shaking his leg gently in attempts to dislodge the cat without hurting it. “Let go.”

It hissed up at him, clinging to his cape and climbing it furiously to scratch and claw at him.

Silva dropped the pearls and reached for the cat, wondering how much of his training was wasted on learning to combat humans when felines were the more tenacious foe.

“I see you were caught touching things that aren't yours.”

Silva heard the voice over the sound of the hissing animal, only just registering that the low patter of the shower had stopped. He turned around and took in the thief leaning against the doorframe, a smirk on his full lips and nothing but a towel tied loosely around his waist. His breath choked in his throat. He couldn’t recall a time he’d ever been more grateful for his cowl.

Clearing his throat, he tried to detach the black kitten from his gauntlet. “These aren't yours to begin with,” he growled, using the voice he normally reserved for interrogations. It wouldn’t work on Chrollo, but he didn’t let it show in his posture.

Chrollo raised a brow and huffed out a laugh, watching with utter glee as the kitten chewed angrily at his fingers.  “Oh? But possession is 9/10s of the law,” he exclaimed, trusting the knot in his towel to hold so he could put his hands on his cheeks in a childish display of surprise.

He barely kept the ruse for more than a second before breaking down in laughter.

Silva scowled, finally succeeding in tearing the cat from his person without injuring it. “It’s also enough to have you arrested,” he grated, holding it by the scruff as it swiped its claws at the empty air, desperate to tear him to pieces.

When the thief laughed, it sounded like a wind chime. “And who’s gonna arrest me? The one breaking and entering unlawfully, Mr. Vigilante?” Chrollo asked, pushing off the door frame to saunter towards his room. “You’ve even assaulted one of my cats. This sure would look pretty bad to the police.”

The words dried up in Silva’s mouth before he could snap back a reply. The towel fell to the floor as Chrollo walked, purposefully discarded to make his point for him. Half-healed marks littered his skin, a testament to the time he’d touched him. He watched, unable to turn away.

Chrollo dipped down to snatch something from his bedroom floor, something black and lacy and sheer. He laughed quietly as he slipped on the panties, turning to look over his shoulder to meet Silva’s heated stare.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured with a demure grin.

He knew he was being made fun of. Silva tore his eyes from the gentle curves of the thief’s body, turning them instead towards the multitude of stolen gems and art he could see tossed in with Chrollo’s refuse.

“So where did you leave the baby bird?” Chrollo asked, standing at just the right angle to be visible through the doorway. It was hard to avoid looking, especially when he bent over to sort through the piles of clothes.

Silva swallowed and tried not to let the thoughts cloud his mind, especially when the thief was asking about his child. “Robin is patrolling with Nightwing tonight,” he answered, not seeing any point in lying. Chrollo probably already knew and just wanted to point out that he had come here alone.

The thief hummed, finally selecting something he deemed acceptable. “I’m happy to hear that you make house calls all on your lonesome,” he teased, glancing at him again with a smile. “Things could get a bit crowded if you let the chick tag along.”

A Monet lay beside a stack of pizza boxes, an emerald encrusted diadem dangling precariously from a cat perch. “I came here for a reason,” Silva tossed towards the bedroom, trying to ignore the sounds of shifting fabric and the soft footfalls of Chrollo dressing himself. He hadn’t managed to work his findings into the conversation from the night before, the thief having a way with distracting.

“I should hope so,” Chrollo called back, walking back into the main room. Silva looked up, only to find that the thief’s definition of dressed was met by pulling on a pair of loose jeans. “Else I’d be pleasantly surprised to see you taking me up on my invitation.”

Silva held his breath as he came up to him, reaching for the cat still held in his outstretched hand. Chrollo was distractingly shirtless, the water in his hair dripping down his skin the more he moved.

“I’m not here for that,” he said, watching him cradle the kitten in his arms. “I’m here about the diamonds you stole.”

Raising a brow, Chrollo barely spared him a look as he proceeded to kiss the small white paw that batted at his cheek. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said breezily, carrying the kitten over to the couch. He splayed out on the leather expanse, settling the creature on his chest. “I sell things once they bore me, and diamonds are the most boring things I could steal.”

Like this, laid out as he was, it was hard to ignore the fact that he hadn’t zipped his jeans. A sliver of his panties was visible, framed by the cut v of his hips, and Silva found it difficult to look away.

“Really now,” Silva grunted, looking over at the diamond earrings dangling from an over-stuffed bookshelf. “Then what are those?”

Chrollo looked over and his eyes widened minutely. He turned back to Silva, an innocent smile on his lovely face. The kitten only added to the image, though Silva knew how bloodthirsty the both of them were.

“Oh,” Chrollo sighed, “those diamonds.”

“My informants tell me that the owner isn’t pleased you took them,” he said, looming over the thief.

Smiling through the kitten’s smoky black ears, Chrollo chuckled. “I’d be interested to meet a person who wasn’t upset after being robbed. You want to sit down?” he asked, curling his legs up to free up part of the seat. “Where are my manners? Would you like a drink?”

Silva ignored the cheeky offers, bracing his hand on the back of the couch to stare the giggling thief down. “They’re placing a hit on you,” he went on, his voice harsh. “You’ve been marked and it’s only a matter of time before someone comes after you.”

A bare foot settled on his thigh, Chrollo staring up at him with lidded eyes. “Looks like you beat them to the punch,” he crooned, rubbing his calf along the thick muscle. “You broke into my place fair and square, so I guess you win the prize. What are you gonna do to me now?”

Even through the Kevlar and armor, Silva could feel the press of his slender leg, the warmth bleeding through. He drew his hand along it, catching Chrollo by the ankle to tug him closer. The kitten was kissed on the head, its small ears twitching as Chrollo whispered something to it.

“I’m serious,” Silva tried to insist, watching the cat jump to the floor and settle in with a few others. “You’re in danger. You need to leave the city until I sort this out.”

Chrollo looked up at him, licking his lips. “That sounds like a reasonable and safe course of action to take,” he breathed, grabbing Silva by the cape to tug him down.

Silva knew he could break the grip. It’d be so easy. Chrollo’s hand was delicate, his position giving him no leverage beyond that which was afforded to his arching back and spread legs. “I have a safe house,” he heard himself say, reeled in by the magnetic beauty below him. “Just outside the state. You’ll be safe there.”

A hand curled around the back of his cowl, tugging him forward until their lips barely brushed. “You take such good care of me,” Chrollo whispered, tilting his head up for a heated kiss.

It was like a seal being broken. The tension snapped like a frayed thread, and Silva surged down, grabbing Chrollo by the thighs to lift him from the couch. He was so small, so beautifully lithe as he wrapped around him, rolling his hips into the constricting cup blocking him from enjoying this.

“We need to get you out of Gotham,” Silva managed to say through the wet, desperate kisses, Chrollo moaning so prettily in his ear.

“You need to get me to a bed,” he shot back, tugging at the thick armor keeping him from bare skin. “God, Bats, I want you inside me.”

There really was no ignoring that plea. Silva gripped the thighs to the point where he knew they’d be bruised come morning. The journey to the bedroom was marked by fevered moans and stumbling over junk. His bedroom was just as bad as the living room, the floor covered in clothes, his cat suit thrown carelessly atop a chair.

“You live like a teenager,” Silva observed, dropping Chrollo onto the messy, unmade bed.

The thief met the sheets a writhing mess, kicking and tugging at his too tight jeans in a desperate need to be naked. “A teenager on Egyptian cotton sheets,” he panted, whining in his throat when Silva finally deigned to help tear the jeans from his legs.

Silva knew exactly how he afforded those sheets, and it just added fuel to the fire that this talented thief was wasting his efforts on something as petty as crime. He braced his knee on the bed and disengaged his belt, tossing it and his cape to the unoccupied side of the bed.

“Don’t tell me you’re keeping the cowl on,” Chrollo said the moment he was freed of their confines. He stared up at him, his grey eyes nearly black with want. “I want to see all of you for once.”

“I can’t trust you,” Silva grunted, letting clever hands pull him free from the bottoms of his uniform. They ran up and down the length, working him to full hardness as Silva threw his gauntlets to the ground. “You’re a criminal.”

Chrollo pouted at him, his full bottom lip pink and a bit swollen from the rough kisses. He teased the head of his cock with his fingertips, rolling him against his panties. “That’s just hurtful, B,” he breathed, baring his throat to him. “I’m very good for you.”

“You’ve left me tied me to a chair and handcuffed me to a fire escape,” Silva glowered, biting him high enough that he wouldn’t be able to run around with his suit unzipped. “You’re lucky I don’t put you in cuffs right now and take you to prison myself.”

“I let you go eventually,” he murmured.

To his surprise, Chrollo’s dark eyes went even darker though. His breath ragged, he shuddered and held tighter to Silva’s arms.

“Would you really do it?” he asked, bucking into the hard length resting against his own. “You seem like the type to want to punish me a little yourself first.”

Silva reached for the silk panties, slipping them off Chrollo’s long legs. “I’d make you regret every illegal thing you’ve ever done,” he promised, taking the thighs in hand to spread them wide.

“You’re all talk,” Chrollo moaned, reaching under the pillow to throw the lube at him. “You like me bad.”

His belt was near Chrollo’s head. “I don’t think I do,” he said. He took up Chrollo’s wrists in his hand, grabbing for the handcuffs he kept on the third compartment on the belt.

“What are you doing?” Chrollo asked, his eyes wide and cheeks flushed. Cold metal surrounded his delicate wrists, Silva holding too tightly to allow him the space to slip away this time.

“I like you obedient,” Silva growled in his ear, snapping the chain around the bars on the headboard.

Chrollo’s lips trembled, his white teeth sinking into the bottom one as he tried to tug himself free. “Are you really going to take me to jail?” he asked, looking up at him with betrayal in his eyes. He squirmed against him, suddenly so shy about the nudity he’d been flaunting since Silva arrived.

“I should.”

The thief turned his face away, hiding in his raised arm. It’d be so easy to do it. Then it wouldn’t matter about the hit, because Chrollo would be locked up and away from anyone who could ever hurt him.

Away from Silva and far from any plans he might ruin with his precociousness.

Laid out like this though, Chrollo was as tempting as any vice. A beautiful, begging siren singing him from his duty, and Silva finally had him in his grasp.

He was finally his. Silva’s mouth went dry at the thought.

He trailed his fingers along the pale skin, bringing Chrollo out from his hiding place to look at him with wide eyes. Lips parting on the ghost of a moan, he arched into his hands, as receptive to his touch as a well-behaved pet to its owner. Silva reached for the lube, uncapping it to cover his fingers with the warming slick.

“I knew you couldn’t resist me,” Chrollo breathed, tugging on the bindings once again. His lashes fluttered when Silva pressed a fingertip to his entrance, his body opening up beautifully for him.

“Just wait,” Silva huffed, stretching him a bit roughly as punishment for the attitude. “I’ll take you to prison as soon as I’m done with you.”

Another finger joined the first, a sheen of sweat glistening along Chrollo’s body. His muscles shifted beneath his skin, his head tossing back into the pillows while he rocked onto the hand. “What happened to the safe house outside the city?” he gasped, using his thighs to tug Silva closer.

He could hardly think about any of that, the lust getting to his head. Calling preparation done enough, he coated his dick with the lube on his hand and rubbed the tip against the heat inviting him in.

“I’m going to keep you for myself,” he said against the thief’s ear. “You’ll be mine until I’m bored of you, and then I’ll put you behind bars where you belong.”

Chrollo moan brokenly when he thrust inside, too pleasure-drunk to snap back with some witty retort. Biting back his own noise, Silva braced himself on the bed and savored the burning tightness hugging him. The thief felt so perfect, like he had before. Like he was made for him.

“M-move,” Chrollo whined, wriggling against the sheets. “Come on, you know how I like it.”

“You’re not in control this time,” he told him, loving the thought of having him at his mercy for once. The chains of the cuffs rattled and scraped against the headboard, Chrollo thrashing in his need to get closer. Silva rolled his hips slowly, loving the sight of the thief breathless and moaning beneath him.

“Please,” he pleaded, again hiding his face in his bound arm. “B, please, go faster. I want it faster.”

His lips fell to the pale throat, his teeth set to leaving his mark along the swan-like expanse. The pace was kept slow, unhurried, Chrollo’s trembling body making the whole thing worth it. He ached to feel all of him against his chest, the armor he still wore keeping him from the soft skin.

One day, he’d have to do this properly. If he blindfolded him, he’d be able to.

The thoughts made him move faster, the lock on his speed breaking bit by bit as Chrollo whined and mewled and begging him to take him to pieces. He took his thighs in hand and lifted him higher, driving into him with everything he had.

Below him, the thief was a shuddering mass of want. His lovely skin was flushed pink, his hips and thighs already bruising from the strength of his grip. He’d have matching ones around his wrists come morning, and Silva bit down on Chrollo’s pulse point, wanting nothing more than to add to them, new and old alike.

“B, B,” Chrollo gasped, his body tight like a spring. “B, I’m gonna cum.”

Silva growled, taking him in hand to work him in time to his rhythm. “Are you?” he asked, kissing him as tremors tore through his slim frame. “You’re going to cum for me?”

Chrollo nodded, his hands tightening into white-knuckled fists within the cuffs. His eyes were shut tight, his pleasure written so blatantly across his gorgeous face. He wanted to see him as he came apart, he realized quite suddenly. He wanted to see the thief utterly beholden to him, instead of the other way around for once.

“Do it,” he ordered, gripping him tightly and thumbing the head of Chrollo’s cock to make him cry out. “Chrollo, do it. You’ve earned it for being so good.”

Dark eyes opened just enough to take him in. Chrollo, for once, listened to him without complaint.

He came with a broken, wanting mewl, coating Silva’s hand and tightening around him like a vice. “B,” he cried, his voice so needy and wanton it stopped his heart. “B, please.”

Silva couldn’t hold out, even with his stamina. He followed after him, spilling himself inside the thief with a muted groan. “Chrollo,” he breathed, fucking himself through it. “Chrollo, you’re perfect.”

But Chrollo didn’t hear him. His body trembled and his eyes shut. It took a moment for Silva to realize he was asleep, the exhaustion catching up with him.

He really was a kid, knocking out after all of that.

The room was quiet but for the sound of Silva’s ragged breathing, and he carefully pulled out, holding himself up so he wouldn’t disturb the boy.

He looked so young like this, his expression so innocent when the smirks and flirtations fell away.

Glancing up at the handcuffs, Silva chewed the inside of his cheek. Logic would dictate he should free him from the bindings, but Chrollo looked absolutely devastating like this. He brushed a flushed cheek with his knuckles, sighing when Chrollo leaned into the caress.

Silva wanted him. He wanted him for his own, and handcuffs were hardly the way to keep him where he wanted him.

Grabbing his discarded armor, he began to get dressed, his mind decided.

He’d be back before Chrollo woke up, with something of his own to compliment the marks dotting the thief’s skin.


	5. Chapter 5

It was nearly two days later before he caught sight of the cat again, and in that time he had destroyed three drug labs, busted six armed robberies all over the city, interrogated a handful of hitmen who might take Falcone up on the offer to kill Chrollo, and also managed to throw a rogue back into Arkham.

He’d had a busy two days, but not once did his mind stray from the thought of Chrollo.

“You asshole! Have you been avoiding me?” Chrollo hissed the moment he landed on the rooftop, his clawed gloves posed for mauling. “You have some explaining to do, you inconsiderate creep.”

Silva might have been more surprised at the sudden company if he hadn’t been tracking the cat’s whereabouts every second of those two days apart.

“Good evening to you too,” he said, turning to face the thief properly. For once, Chrollo had his suit zipped up properly, the collar still not high enough to hide the worst of the marks he’d left on him.

Around his neck lay the collar, the understated bat symbol bright in the dim street light that filtered up this high. The charm chimed quietly with every move he made, playing second fiddle to the tracker he’d put inside. Chrollo grabbed at it and tugged pointlessly at the reinforced leather, his glare as sharp as a dagger.

“Shut up,” he snarled, prowling forward to get up in his face. “What the hell is this?”

The display might have come off as intimidating if Chrollo came up past his shoulder. “Looks like a collar,” he said, letting the barest hint of a smile break the mask of his persona. “Not much of a Stray now, if you’ve got an owner.”

The look of utter abhorrence on Chrollo’s pretty face was equal parts endearing and immature. He yanked at the collar with both hands, his sharp, barbed claws dangerously close to his own throat. “You don’t _own_ me!” he denied, trying his damnedest to shred through the band with pure strength when his claws failed him. “Take this off, right now!”

“Why would I do that? I’ve had to take in half a dozen kittens because of Robin,” he reasoned, backing the thief up against the wall of the building’s cooling unit. “Maybe I felt the need for one more. And did you forget?” Silva led, unable to hide his grin. “Possession is 9/10s of the law.”

There was a beat of silence while the thief processed his own words being spun on him. “Is this a joke to you?” Chrollo demanded, pushing at his chest when he began to feel boxed in. “This is my life you’re playing with. Do you know how dangerous it is to wear your symbol around my neck in the places I go?”

 Silva felt a flood of possessiveness wash over him. He looped his fingers through the reinforced collar, lifting just enough to inhibit the cat’s breathing. “Maybe you shouldn’t go to those places then,” he said quietly, loving how Chrollo shivered. “You’ve got a hit out for your head. This is for your own safety.”

Chrollo glared up at him, going up on his toes to try and find himself some slack from the hold. “I never asked you to save me,” he replied, his voice a hiss. “I can take care of myself.” He wrapped his fingers around Silva’s hand, scratching the Kevlar glove viciously, as if to prove his point.

Staring down at his lovely, furious face, still free of a mask or domino, Silva just couldn’t find it in himself to believe him. “You can’t,” he said simply, flattening his hand against the metal wall with the collar still looped around his thumb. “And you won’t try to.”

Dark eyes widened and Chrollo struggled pointlessly to free himself from the hand pinning his throat to the surface. Every jerk he made choked him back, Silva catching his scratching hands in his free one to keep them from ruining any more of his armor.

“Because you know best?” he spat, settling only once he realized that Silva had no intention of letting him go. “Because you know what’s best for me? You fucked me twice and you think you own me.”

He’d be lying if he said he hated the idea. Even angry, Chrollo was still intoxicatingly gorgeous.

“This isn’t about what I want,” he lied, insinuating a thigh between the thief’s legs. “This is about keeping you alive until I can get the hit called off.”

Chrollo made a derisive sound, baring his teeth like an animal liable to bite the moment he came within range. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have felt the need to hang your symbol around my neck like a dog marking its territory,” he scoffed, flexing his trapped hands to test Silva’s grip.

“Is it?” Silva pressed, managing to land a chaste kiss to Chrollo’s scowling cheek. “You say it’s making you a target, but do you have any idea how many crooks run at the sight of my mark?”

He could tell that Chrollo was thinking about it, his scowl softening minutely. It was enough to give him the greenlight to kiss him again, rolling his thigh against him gently.

“Is it really so bad?” he asked, whispering in his ear. “Do you hate wearing it that much?”

Chrollo took in a shaky breath, his hips bucking a little to meet his thigh.

Silva smiled, sucking a bruise into the skin just below his jaw. “It looks so good on you,” he praised, tugging back on the collar just enough to make Chrollo’s breath hitch. “I just want to keep you safe.”

“I forgot how good you are at this,” Chrollo choked, his hands trying to break his hold, but not to attack this time. He was being so well-behaved at the moment that Silva let him go with little fuss. “Why are you so possessive?” he said breathlessly, wrapping his arms around Silva’s neck. “I’m not helpless.”

Grabbing him under the thigh, Silva lifted him up until he was wrapped around his waist. Like this, he could rub them together and feel the tight body roll into him.

“No, you’re not,” he gave, “but I still want you.”

Moaning brokenly in his ear, Chrollo came to pieces. Any anger or frustration he held melted away in the burgeoning want. Silva drank it in. Everything about the thief seemed to invite this sort of affection, his body opening up for it like a flower turning towards the sun.

He hitched him higher, trusting him to hold himself up so Silva could touch him properly. The zipper was tugged down, showcasing the mottled canvas he’d only just begun the nights before. “I’m pleased you’re covering yourself properly now,” he admitted, running the textured palm of his gloved hands down the trembling body bared to him. “You shouldn’t let just anyone see you like this.”

“Only you, right?” Chrollo managed, something pointed still in his voice.

Silva moved his hand to the thief’s heat, palming him until he cried out. “Only me,” he agreed, pressing the syringe to Chrollo’s straining throat, just below the thick collar.

“What?” the thief gasped, his arms tightening around Silva’s neck, his claws catching in his cape. “What did you just…?”

He removed the needle, flicking it back into the hidden injector built into the index finger of his glove. “I want to keep you safe, Chrollo,” he explained, removing the hand fondling the cat to zip up his suit again. Already the tranquilizer was at work, sapping him of any fight he still had in him.

Dark eyes stared up at him, growing foggier and sleepier every second. Pale pink lips tried to form words, but it was already too late. Silva kissed him silent, adjusting his grip to cradle him in his arms. Chrollo weighed about as much as air, his slender form molding to him like a missing puzzle piece.

He looked out towards the cityscape and moved to the ledge of the roof, staring down at the car hidden behind a dumpster. Bringing up a hand to nudge his communicator, he resettled Chrollo over his shoulder, readying himself to grapple down.

“Robin,” he spoke, keeping the descent as smooth as possible so as not to jostle the thief.

“Yeah, Batman?” came the reply, Kalluto no doubt spinning errantly in the monitor chair with half a dozen kittens in his lap.

He sighed and bent his knees when he hit the ground, absorbing the impact seamlessly. “I’m conducting business out of town tonight,” he said, calling the batmobile to him with the press of a button. “Head upstairs and get to bed. Take the cats with you. I don’t want to see more cat hair in the cave.”

There came a sigh over the comm that crackled like gentle static, Kalluto’s disappointment obvious. “Yes sir,” he said dutifully. “Will you be back tonight, or should I tell Gotoh not to make you breakfast?”

Silva stared down at the lovely thief, settling him into the passenger seat with care. The buckles fasted tightly around him, keeping him upright when he threatened to slump over in his drug induced sleep. He let out a sigh, carding his fingers through the messy black hair so it fell against Chrollo’s cheek in a soft wave.

“I won’t be back tonight,” he decided, closing the passenger door and moving to the driver’s side to get in himself. “Batman out.”

And with that said, he cut the communication and turned on the car, peeling out of the alley with a semblance more care than he gave normally to how much he jostled the car’s occupants.

The drive was quiet, the silence only broken by the thrum of the engine and the almost imperceptible murmurs Chrollo made as his body fought the sedative. Silva drove with one hand on the wheel and the other holding Chrollo’s lax fingers. When the road was straight and empty and he found his thoughts pulled towards the thief at his side, he’d look down at the dainty hand.

What was he doing?

The question echoed in his mind, something like guilt gnawing at his stomach. He blew past the state sign, crossing into New York State with nothing even resembling an answer to show for it. It was true that Chrollo was in danger, and that the hit was a serious threat to his safety, but he had to wonder if this might be excessive.

“B?” Chrollo mumbled, turning his head in his sleep fitfully. The hand nestled in his flexed, the graceful fingers curling gently around his own. He settled a moment later, dragged back to unconsciousness by the drug he’d had measured to his exact height and body weight.

Silva steeled himself, turning his attention back to the road. “I’m here, Chrollo,” he said quietly, squeezing the hand. He’d keep him safe, he told himself. He’d keep him safe from the city that wanted his head until he knew for certain that it was alright to bring him back.

The safe house he kept out here was large and high end. If anything, it’d be a step up from Chrollo’s usual lodgings. He turned down a secluded dirt road, thankful that the shocks on the car were good enough to soften the bumpy ride for Chrollo’s comfort.

Tall trees rose overhead, hiding the sky from sight as they made their way down the drive, a forest opening up in a wide embrace. The house was more lodge than manor, the premise ideal for maintaining a low cover due to its location as well as its design.

A broad gate surrounded the property, opening with a press of a button on a remote Silva kept in his belt. Ahead of them rest the house itself, its blinded windows large but high up, preventing anyone on the ground level to see inside. Silva pulled up behind the structure, entering the built in garage.

Brisk, fresh air greeted him when he opened the door. For a moment, he let himself enjoy it. As much as he loved Gotham, there really was nothing quite like the air of the forest to clear the smog and crime from his lungs.

He moved around the car, opening up the passenger side door to gather Chrollo up again in his arms. He didn’t so much as stir, his cheek resting over Silva’s heart. The door shut with a bump of his hip and he made his way up the steps to enter the house, the lights coming on automatically when he crossed over the threshold.

It looked the same as it had last time he’d found reason to use this particular house. The place was built more for comfort than for deep cover. Every room was large and had at least one window, and the basement he’d designed held only the bare necessities should some crisis arise while he was holed up.

He carried Chrollo through the foyer and up the stairs, making a mental note to have the kitchen restocked with perishables while Chrollo stayed here. Given how he lived in his own loft, he could safely assume that the cat survived mainly on take-out and pre-cooked things. It would do him some good to eat healthier, if only under duress.

The bedroom was located on the second floor, the first door on the right. Silva shouldered open the door and brought the unconscious thief to the large bed, laying him on top of the covers. He didn’t react except to mumble to himself, his body curling into itself a bit in the drafty room.

He lingered over him, wondering if it would be better to change Chrollo into something more comfortable than a leather body suit while he slept. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen him naked before.

Stripping off his gloves, Silva moved to the large closet and surveyed the selection. Gotoh was the one who kept the place stocked, and since Silva was the only one who ever utilized this place, it was filled with only clothing in his size. Glancing back at the sleeping thief, Silva knew he’d be swimming in any of it.

A simple white button-up came down from the hanging rack, followed by a simple sweater and jeans for himself. He didn’t bother grabbing any pants for Chrollo. While a shirt might manage to stay on his small figure, his waist was far too narrow to hold up any of his trousers.

The clothes went on the bed while Silva changed himself first. He stripped off the cape and armor, letting it fall to the carpeted floor piece by piece until he was free. The heavy boots were left in a corner, away from the walkway. A thud marked his belt following.

The civilian wear almost felt foreign when he pulled it on, the soft fabric so unlike the heavy armor he wore every night like a second skin. He kept his cowl on, too conscientious of preserving his identity to let himself relax fully.

With that done, he turned to Chrollo. It was simple to slip off his hat and goggles. He found it much harder to bring himself to tug down the suit’s zipper.

He rolled his eyes at his own hesitance and pushed past the thoughts of propriety to unzip the top. Inch by inch, Chrollo’s familiar skin was revealed to him. It was easier to ignore the sensual curves when Chrollo was asleep, his usual magnetism dimmed to a dull roar instead of a fiery inferno. Silva peeled the leather from his shoulders, replacing it with the new shirt.

As he did up the buttons, he contemplated the rest. The shirt went well past Chrollo’s thighs, sparing him his modesty if he really cared much to preserve it. He thought of the hidden weapons he might be hiding in his suit, and that succinctly ended the internal debate for him. Shucking the rest of the suit, he folded it up and sat it across the room, far from reach in case Chrollo awoke violent.

Silva went back to the bed and lifted Chrollo gently, just high enough to free the covers out from under him. He tucked the thief in and cupped his cheek for a moment, utterly charmed by the pensive pout on Chrollo’s lips even while he slept.

With him bundled up and settled in, there wasn’t much else to do but wait for the drug to metabolize.

He pulled up a chair near the bed to sit in, bringing out the tablet to get some work done while he waited. With the secure link to the bat-computer accessible through a carefully imputed password and retinal scan, he’d be able to monitor the goings-on in Gotham from here.

Flicking through the various camera feeds of the cave, he verified that Kalluto had indeed gone to bed like he’d told him. There were open casefiles still on the desktop though, and he glanced at them before putting them back behind their protected firewalls.

At least an hour passed in silence. Silva spent it skimming the police scanner transcripts in hopes of finding any useful tidbits relating to the manhunt underway on the streets. For once, the gangsters and street thugs taken in weren’t talking. Any cops on the take were likewise silent, probably knowing better than to speak about mob activity when someone as big as Falcone was involved.

“B…?” Chrollo murmured, something more than just sleep prattle this time. “Where am I? What?”

Silva was at his side in a moment, the tablet tossed to the side. He knelt at the edge of the bed to card his fingers through his hair. “I’m right here,” he gave, brushing the messy bangs from his eyes. “You’re safe.”

Chrollo wrinkled his nose and pushed himself upright a little, taking in the room with bleary eyes. “That didn’t answer my question,” he slurred a bit, turning to fix his stare on Silva. His lips curled into a pouty frown. “I’m thirsty.”

“That’s a side effect of the sedative,” he explained, reaching for the glass of water and helping the thief support it as he sipped. “We’re at that safe house I told you about. Do you feel alright? Are you nauseated at all? Dizzy?”

A hand pushed the cup away and Chrollo looked down at his lap, even going so far as to lift the covers to look beneath. “What am I wearing?” he mumbled to himself, tugging at the too-big shirt. Explorative fingers went higher, alighting on the collar before Silva could offer more information.

Dark eyes widened before narrowing, the thief turning back to look at him with unbridled rage.

“You put a collar on me,” he hissed, drawing back his hand in a sloppily thrown punch.

Silva caught it easily, holding onto the fist. “We went over this already,” he chuckled, grabbing the other hand when it took a swing at him too.

Chrollo looked about as angry as a person could look while still shaking off the effects of a strong sedative. “You kidnapped me,” he said this time, yanking at his trapped hands in a desperate bid to free himself. “You’re crazy! Let me go!”

Sighing, Silva leaned forward, using the grip he had to push Chrollo back down against the mattress. “It’s for your own safety,” he reasoned, grateful he’d had the foresight to remove the clawed gloves before putting him to bed.

“You keep saying that, but here I am, feeling decidedly unsafe,” Chrollo shot back, kicking and struggling like a cat being forced into a bath. “How the hell am I supposed to trust you when you put a needle in my neck and dragged me off to god knows where?!”

When he said it like that, it just made it sound bad. “Come on,” he tried, using his legs to pin Chrollo’s in place. “You’re overreacting a bit to the situation.”

Chrollo’s eyes narrowed into daggers. “You think I’m overreacting?” he said in a dangerous whisper. “You think this is overreacting, when I’ve just awoken from a drug induced stupor in some strange house, in a strange bed, in strange clothes, straddled by a strange man who won’t even take off his goddamn cowl when we have sex?”

Silva balked, biting his lip.

“That’s what I thought,” he hissed, tossing his head angrily when he failed to free himself. The silence built between them, the words hanging in the air like physical weights. After a few minutes, Chrollo’s breathing calmed. After another tense minute, he finally deigned to meet Silva’s eye again.

“So what now?” he asked tersely. “What do you do with me now, since you seem to know what’s best for me better than I do myself?”

He wasn’t sure what to say. Chrollo lay below him, a frown marring his full lips. Slowly, he loosened his hold on his wrists, letting him have back his hands so he didn’t feel quite so helpless. Given all he had been through, Silva could only imagine how aggravated he must feel.

“I’m sorry,” he settled on saying, watching the lines of the thief’s body in case he felt like trying to strike him again. “I apologize if I scared you.”

Chrollo scoffed derisively. “Scared me?” he pressed, not even bothering to move his hands from above his head. “I’m insulted, B. I don’t care what you think about me, but I am an adult. I know how to take care of myself. If there’s a problem, I guarantee you I’ve dealt with worse.”

It was probably true. He didn’t know much about Chrollo’s past, but what he’d learned in his research told him that he came from a rough upbringing. “I didn’t want you being flippant about this,” he said, staring into inkwell eyes. “You don’t know Falcone like I do. He won’t stop until you’re dead.”

“Hard to imagine he’d go to all this trouble just for some lousy diamonds,” Chrollo sighed, turning his cheek into the pillow. “How do I even know you’re not just making this all up? You’d clearly do some pretty crazy things to get your way.”

“Because if I wanted you to myself that badly, I wouldn’t have bothered with coming up with a cover story,” Silva said pointedly. He took Chrollo by the chin and turned him to face forward, meeting his gaze. “I don’t want you to get yourself killed when I can do something about it.”

And before Chrollo could snap back some pithy remark about that meaning jack, Silva did the one thing he could think of to get the boy to listen to him.

He took off his cowl.

Dark eyes went wide and pale lips parted in a quiet gasp. “Mr. Zoldyck?” he whispered, staring up at him in shock. Bright red rushed to his cheeks, his face filling with horror. “Oh god, did you imprint on me or something at that gala?”

Silva groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Or something,” he agreed, dragging his hands down his cheeks tiredly.

For some reason, Chrollo looked bashful. He bit his lip and flushed even brighter, dragging a pillow up to hide his face from view. “This can’t be happening,” he said, the words muffled by the feathery down. “How did I get a stalker richer than god?”

The response wasn’t at all what he was expecting and he didn’t know what to say to it. He settled on tugging the pillow away to take in the blushing face hidden beneath. “I’m not a stalker,” Silva insisted.

“Your behavior says otherwise,” he sniped back, tugging at the stolen pillow. “Why would you even show me your face? That’s so stupid, I can just go sell the information to the highest bidder the second I get out of here and—”

Silva ripped the pillow away and threw it to the floor, bringing their lips together in a forceful kiss. Chrollo made a startled noise, his hands coming to tangle in his hair for want of something to do. He made the kiss deep, pressing inside the warm mouth when the thief parted his lips to gasp.

He only pulled away once the fingers went lax and Chrollo kissed back, his dark eyes hazy and passive.

“I showed you because I want you to trust me,” he whispered, backing away a bit when Chrollo tried to chase his lips for another kiss. “You hold my secret in your hands now. Trust that I’m doing what’s best for you. At least for a little while.”

Chrollo looked into his eyes, his breathing quick and hair mussed. With the collar still around his neck, he looked like everything Silva had ever wanted. “I don’t want to wait for you to save me, locked up in some ivory tower,” he said, licking his lips. “I can trust you, but I won’t be owned by you, Silva.”

He brought his hands behind his neck, interlocking his fingers with Chrollo’s to rest them above his head. “I won’t try to own you,” he lied, leaning in for another heated kiss. The thief opened up beautifully for him, letting him take control as if it were second nature to him to submit.  

It was simultaneously better and worse having this happen in a bed and out of uniform. Chrollo’s skin felt velvet smooth against his bare hands, the heat between them shared like a fever. Silva ran a hand along his thigh, parting them so he could take in the panties hiding the cat from sight.

“You are so beautiful,” he breathed, drinking in the picture the thief made while laid out like this.

Chrollo was built entirely of thin, gentle lines, a contrast of dark and white that seemed more at home in artwork than anything achievable in the waking world. He let himself admire him the way he might a painting, pausing for a long moment on the thick black of the collar and the charm bearing his symbol.

“Hurry up,” Chrollo whined, shifting under the gaze. “It’s embarrassing when you stare like that.”

“It’s different now,” he replied, spreading the long, gorgeous legs wider, amazed at the flexibility he commanded. “I want to take you in.”

The blush was back with a vengeance and Chrollo gripped the sheets above his head tightly, averting his eyes. “You’ve seen all of me before,” he murmured. “What’s so different this time?”

 _You’re in my bed,_ he wanted to say. _You’re finally mine._

“You get to see all of me now,” he settled on saying, curling his fingers through the waistband of the undergarments. “Now, there’s nothing at all between us.”

Chrollo gasped quietly when he pulled the panties from his legs, tossing them away. His knees came together shyly, as if trying to hide from him, but Silva was too intent on his desire to let something like bashfulness deny him this.

Covering his face with his hands, Chrollo let him open up his legs. “Nothing between us, huh?” he leveled, peeking coyly at him from between his fingers. “You’re still wearing more clothes than me, Mr. Zoldyck.”

The way he treated even sex like a game made him grin. With a huff and a roll of his eyes, Silva let go of the beautiful pair of legs to pull off his own shirt, throwing it to wherever the panties had gone.

Appraising eyes drank him in, lingering along every scar and divot his chest held. A pink tongue wet his lips, Chrollo looking anything but shy now. “And the pants,” he breathed, his body rubbing against the sheets as if desperate for contact. “Let me see you.”

Silva raised a brow, but complied, slipping the belt through the loops slowly. Chrollo’s breathing hitched. He unbuttoned the fly and pulled down the zipper, letting them fall. As he kicked them off the rest of the way, Chrollo paid him his share of scrutiny.

Dark eyes fell to half-mast. “How are you still Gotham’s most eligible bachelor?” he finally said, bringing his hands down to unbutton the oversized dress shirt Silva had dressed him in. “What kind of person doesn’t wrangle all of that into a legally permitted cage and throw away the key?”

“Maybe I’m just saving myself for the right person,” he joked, knocking his hands away to simply rip the shirt open. Buttons flew off in either direction and Chrollo’s eyes went wide. To him, it probably seemed a shame to ruin a $400 shirt. How quaint.

He shivered in the cool air, his exposed skin erupting with gooseflesh. With just the collar around his neck and the sleeves clinging to his arms, he looked every ounce the eager pet Silva wished him to be.

“I’m glad you’ve the self-control to wait,” Chrollo chuckled, arching into him so he could nuzzle his chest for warmth. “Because I’ve never waited for anything in my life. Least of all pleasure.”

Though he no doubt meant it as a general aside, Silva was suddenly assaulted with the thought of Chrollo like this with other men. Faceless and low, they touched his pale skin, leaving marks along every inch. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he wondered if he could get away with keeping Chrollo forever.

He fitted his hands to Chrollo’s waist, yanking him forward, laying himself down on the mattress between the thief’s legs. The collar rested at the base of his throat, the charm perfectly framed by his collarbones. It was more permanent than any bruise or bite mark. That symbol made Chrollo his.

“I’ve enough self-control for the both of us,” Silva promised, and that was all the warning he gave before lifting the thief’s hips up to lap at his entrance with his tongue.

The sudden shock of the action had Chrollo writhing, his entire body jolting like if he’d been shocked. Though he couldn’t quite see given his current angle, Silva could feel the skin in his hands heating up. He stiffened his tongue and pressed the tip inside, his fingertips leaving bruises where they gripped.

“Silva,” came the broken moan. Strong, gorgeous legs wrapped around his head to pull him in. “Oh god, Silva, please.”

He didn’t need to beg to make Silva want to drown him in pleasure. Bringing his fingers down to work alongside his tongue, he reduced Chrollo to a trembling mess within minutes. His fingers scissored and curled, rubbing his prostate until he shook like a leaf in a storm.

“What do you want from me, Chrollo?” he asked, coming up to watch his face as he came apart. Beautiful hands dragged him in for a kiss, which he dominated easily. He pulled away, looking into dark, wanting eyes. “Tell me what you want.”

“I actually get to pick?” the cat gasped, using the mattress for leverage as he fucked himself on Silva’s fingers. “What if I don’t want you at all?”

Silva growled lowly, stabbing at the spot so Chrollo let out a voiceless scream. “I think it’s safe to assume that you want me,” he gave, his voice husky and low.

Chrollo tore at the sheets above his head, so overcome he could barely form a coherent sentence. Silva slowed down his ruthless assault, letting him gather his thoughts while he entertained himself with exploring the planes of his chest.

He keened when Silva rolled his thumb over his nipple, the sound morphing to a low moan when he took the other into his mouth. “Oh, Silva,” he whispered, closing his eyes. His hand came up to tangle in Silva’s hair, holding him to his chest. “I want more.”

“I don’t have anything to use here,” he said, hating himself a little for not planning for this eventuality. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Chrollo opened his eyes and smiled, pushing on his shoulders until Silva rolled onto his back, taking his fingers with him. Crawling on top of him, he sealed their lips together, rolling their hips together. “We don’t need lube to have some fun,” he crooned, “so long as you’re willing to use that mouth of yours.”

Silva raised a brow but didn’t say anything, watching as Chrollo turned around, positioning himself over his cock with his ass arched pointedly at Silva’s mouth. Soft, perfect lips trailed along his aching length, Chrollo giggling as he teased.

“So long as you make it good for me, I’ll be nice to you,” Chrollo murmured, looking over his shoulder to smile prettily at him.

Swallowing the shiver that longed to roll down his spine, Silva maintained eye contact and grabbed the thief’s hips, licking into him like he wanted. Above him, he could feel how Chrollo shook, his mouth going to his cock with no more conversation.

Someday, when they had more time to themselves and Chrollo felt agreeable, he’d have to have the thief blow him where he could properly watch. Little teasing licks lapped at the head, clever hands running up and down the shaft as he occupied himself with the tip. Silva distracted himself by bringing his fingers back to Chrollo’s entrance, giving back every inch that the cat gave to him.

“You taste so good, Silva,” Chrollo moaned, deigning to finally take him into his mouth. His petal soft lips went lower with every bob of his head. Before long, he was buried to the base, Chrollo’s negligible weight doing little to keep his hips pinned to the bed.

Sweat beaded his forehead and Silva did his best to keep his wits about him as he pleasured Chrollo, Chrollo’s own skill apparent in how he had reduced him to such a state already. With the hand he had free, he cupped Chrollo’s cock, working him in time to the blood pounding in his ears.

Chrollo whined through his mouthful, bucking into him like a fidgeting child eager for more. His back arched even more, his legs spreading wider, opening himself up for all that Silva would give. Silva rolled his thumb along the head of his cock and the thief was forced to pull off him, gasping out a ragged moan.

“Silva, Silva,” he wheezed, his forehead falling to his thigh. “Just fuck me, please, I don’t even care. I need you inside me, right now.”

Silva looked at him, taking in the pure black need staring back at him.

“Chrollo, it’s—”

“I don’t care!” he interjected, cutting him off before he could finish his statement. Chrollo dragged himself out of Silva’s hands, coming forward to position himself over the flushed cock. He looked over his shoulder, and his eyes seemed to be waiting for him to say no.

With him this eager for it, Silva couldn’t find it in himself to deny him anything. He sighed and sat up, fitting his hands around the narrow, bruised hips to guide him down slowly. “Tell me if it hurts,” Silva said into his pierced ear, biting down when the tip slipped past the first ring of muscle.

The saliva coating them both eased the way enough that he knew Chrollo wouldn’t ask to stop, Silva still kept it slow, only feeding him another inch when the thief’s breathing settled. Chrollo opened up around him beautifully, his head resting on Silva’s shoulder to moan directly in his ear.

“You are so beautiful,” Silva praised, kissing the skin around the collar on the cat’s throat. “You’re taking me in so well.”

Just as it had before, the words seemed to drive Chrollo wild. His breathing hitched and came quicker, his heart beating rabbit fast. “Silva,” he keened, dropping down to impale himself faster than was safe. “Let me ride you.”

He felt like heaven around him, but Silva had more sense than to let him do that. “We’re taking it slow so we can both enjoy this,” he ordered, looping his fingers through the collar to keep Chrollo in check. “Be good for me, Chrollo. You want to make me proud, don’t you?”

Chrollo fisted the sheets in front of him, the shaking of his body hidden in the torn shirt he still wore. He shifted restlessly, tilting his head up to mouth at Silva’s throat and chin. “I can take it,” he insisted softly, tightening his muscles rhythmically. “I just want to feel good. Make you feel good.”

Silva hissed at the pressure, letting him ease up and fall back down. He could tell already that this wouldn’t last long.

“You feel so good,” he gave, starting them with a pace that was quicker than he knew it should be but still far from what either of them craved. Precum eased the way the longer they went, but Chrollo was still so tight, the thrusts just this side of slick enough.

Like this, it was easy to believe that Chrollo was made to be his. His hips fit so perfectly in his hands, his muscles clenching expertly to clamp down on him with every thrust he gave. Chrollo was an utter mess against his chest, his lips parted and gasping for breath. He looked drunk on the pleasure, his slender hand fixed around his own need to stroke in time to the pace Silva managed.

“Silva, please,” he begged, his free hand resting on his bicep, curling around the muscle to feel him flex. “I’m so close. I wanna cum.”

He was close too, so close that the words pushed him right to the edge. “Cum for me, Chrollo,” he ordered, going faster to chase the precipice. “You’ve been so good for me.”

Chrollo made a needy little noise before his body went tight, his orgasm hitting him hard and dirty like an underhanded blow. He writhed in Silva’s lap, falling back against his chest a breathless, pink-cheeked mess. Cum coated his stomach and hand.

All it took was one look over the thief’s shoulder to make Silva follow suit. He buried his moan in the meat of Chrollo’s shoulder, biting down hard enough to bruise as he came inside. Chrollo trembled in his arms, moving with him when he laid them back down against the sheets.

“You made a mess of me again,” Chrollo complained tiredly, his breathing slowly evening out once Silva removed himself. “You’re worse than a dog trying to mark its territory.”

Silva stroked his cheek, holding him close so he could kiss him softly.  Night black eyes stared blearily up at him, Chrollo fighting the call to sleep.

“What’s so wrong with being mine? You’re safe here,” he whispered to the drowsy thief, carding through his thick hair. “I’ll take care of everything.”

Chrollo wrinkled his nose and frowned, hiding his face in his chest. “I can take care of myself, Silva,” he murmured. “I want this collar gone too. If you want me to wear it when we fuck, then that’s one thing, but I’m my own person before I’m yours.”

It was Silva’s turn to frown, but it went unseen when the thief nodded off a moment later. He held him closer and traced his fingers along the smooth leather. “We’ll talk about it in the morning,” he heard himself say.

Starlight danced in the corners of closed eyes, clinging to black lashes like stardust in the night sky. Staring down at the young thief in his arms, Silva knew with absolute certainty that he wouldn’t be satisfied with anything but this.

He drifted off to sleep in the early hours of the mornings, holding Chrollo in his arms.

Hours later, long after the last of night had been lost in the kindling light of day, gentle fingers carded through his hair. Silva didn’t even stir, the warmth sliding away from him with only a whisper of sound.

“Sleep tight, Silva,” a soft voice crooned, disappearing like the threads of a dream.


	6. Chapter 6

Silva woke slowly, for once in his life savoring the lethargy that signified a night spent in deep sleep. He opened his eyes and surveyed the empty space on the bed next to him, a cursory check with his hand showing it to be cold.

Eyes narrowing, Silva pushed himself upright, taking in the empty room. “Chrollo?” he called out, throwing back the sheets to stand up. His pants from the night before were still on the floor and he tugged them on, his frustration mounting when he saw that Chrollo’s suit was gone from the corner where he’d had it folded.

He grabbed a shirt and went out into the hall, searching for any sign of the missing thief.

“Chrollo!” he shouted this time, peering over the railing and into the kitchen. The room was dark, the automatic lights cold and dead. The living room was likewise silent. Silva ground his teeth and went back into the bedroom, grabbing for the tablet still resting in the chair near the bed.

Keying in the password, he went into the bat computer’s server, navigating to the file containing the information for the tracker built into the collar around Chrollo’s neck.

His hands tightened on the fragile tablet, the frame creaking from the force of his grip.

Chrollo’s coordinates put him in Gotham, the timestamps telling him that he had escaped hours ago. Silva looked to his belt resting near the closet, already seeing that the front gate remote had been stolen. He let out an angry sigh, wishing he had never told Chrollo how to disengage the traps.

He rubbed tiredly at his eyes. The second he was back in Gotham, he was investing in a leash for that damned cat. Maybe then he’d be able to wake up with him instead of an empty bed.

Gathering up his armor, he got dressed and then headed down to the garage, verifying that yes, Chrollo had stolen one of the motorcycles he kept in the safe house for emergency transportation. Better a bike than a car, he tried to tell himself optimistically. He unlocked the batmobile, climbing inside to begin the long, furious drive back to the city.

He sped the entire way. His anger translated into a lead foot and Silva pulled up the tracking information again, plugging into the GPS the thief’s exact location. Chrollo wasn’t in his apartment or anywhere else Silva had attributed as his usual stomping grounds. For some reason, he was standing still near the outskirts of town.

Something didn’t sit right with him. Chrollo was hardly the type to linger in one spot for long periods of time if he wasn’t sleeping. Silva pulled up the timestamps again. His eyes widened. Chrollo had been in the exact same spot for hours.

It made no sense. Why there of all places? Why not his apartment? Did he have his own safe house outside the city? Was he hiding from Silva?

He engaged the autopilot and pulled the dash computer closer, drawing a map with the list of coordinates until he had plotted out the path that Chrollo had taken. The red line cut from the New York safe house to a nearby gas station. Silva figured Chrollo had stopped for directions perhaps, since he’d been unconscious for the entirety of the ride there. It then ran all the way to Gotham, but it kept going.

Silva stared at the line, tracing with his finger the place where Chrollo had stalled for a few moments before abruptly turning back around, ending up nestled somewhere in the outer edges of the city where he’d been for the past three hours.

Zooming in on the area where he’d had the sudden urge to change directions, Silva took in the streets and intersections, recalling what he knew about that particular side of town.

It was abandoned for the most part, that he knew for certain. A decade ago it had been a bustling center for commerce and shipping companies, but after the docks became the preferred form of transport in and out of the city, the area had lost its relevance.

Silva bit his lip and stepped on the gas a bit harder, breaking all sorts of laws as he sped towards the tracker dot. Abandoned buildings usually signaled crime. Crime usually meant mob activity. If someone had seen Chrollo coming into town, it would have been all too easy to take him unawares, as tired and worn out as he must have been.

His mind raced through all the potential people who could have successfully planned and orchestrated a kidnapping at 5:58 p.m. Rush hour in Gotham was a force to be reckoned with, and no matter what sorts of sights and things Gothamites had become inundated to, something like that wouldn’t have gone ignored.

A quick check showed that no reports had been filed with the GCPD. That meant either the kidnappers were stealthy and intelligent enough to snatch Chrollo without alerting a single passerby’s attention, or they were notorious and recognizable enough to dissuade a concerned citizen from calling the police.

Or, his mind supplied, they were working under Falcone and left the tawdry clean-up work to the Don.

Silva took an exit far faster than he should have, but the suspension on the car was good enough to handle it. Falcone wouldn’t extend that sort of protection to just anyone. They’d have to be someone skilled. Someone he would trust to get the job done, with zero chances for mistakes.

The possibilities were few but terrible, the Magician topping the list. Silva wove in and out of the sparse late night traffic, coaxing more speed out of the car. Regardless of who was responsible, he had to get there before the reward tempted them to kill Chrollo.

As fast as he went, he was still stymied by the miles between them. The city rose up slowly, painfully slowly, and Silva wasted no time in stopping for supplies. He made directly for the blinking, red dot, praying to any god listening that he wouldn’t find a corpse when he got there.

The second he pulled up to the warehouse, he knew that rationality wouldn’t be guiding his hand.

The warehouse wasn’t as large as most, its diminutive size due to its location outside of the city and away from any major roads or transport venues. What made it poor for business made it perfect for kidnappings or illicit activity. It would take the police a good half hour to answer any emergency calls, but that depended solely on there being people around to call at all. There wasn’t.

He blamed the adrenaline for keeping him from thinking logically. Silva didn’t bother with stealth. He went for the main entrance, kicking down the door with fury in his eyes and rage begging for an outlet.

The only sign of life in the area lay in front of him, and Silva couldn’t find it in himself to care about anything else.

Chrollo was at the far end of the room, chained to a system of pipes with a swatch of tape over his mouth. His eyes were open and panicked. The moment he caught sight of Silva, he began to struggle against the ropes and chains, his screaming muffled behind the gag.

“He’s rather gorgeous, isn’t he?” a voice crooned in his ear.

Silva whirled around, a batarang in hand and ready to strike. He hadn’t heard anything, but then again, Chrollo was a good distraction.

“Hisoka,” he snarled, taking in the rogue posed jauntily against the wall. The redhead crooked a smirk and waved his fingers, as infuriating as he ever was. “Why did you do this?”

Golden eyes widened in mock surprise, the man bringing a hand up to his cheek to act like the smartass brat he was.

“You’re really asking why I’d kidnap and tie up a thief valued at upwards of half a million dollars?” he laughed, sauntering forward to walk a wide circle around Silva, closing the distance between himself and Chrollo. “I think you know me pretty well after all these years, Batsy. You know I can’t resist the promise of a little excitement.”

Chrollo watched them with wide eyes, his brow furrowed to show that he wasn’t happy with the way he was being talked about. Silva took a step closer to him, only to have Hisoka click his tongue, wagging his finger. He froze in place, knowing better than to press his luck around the Magician.

He may be an infuriating brat, but Hisoka was in a league all his own when it came to creative ways to be destructive. There’d been a reason why he wanted to keep Chrollo as far from him as possible.

Hisoka took Chrollo by the chin and Silva nearly growled, the trickster pressing a kiss to his thief’s cheek. “It doesn’t hurt that he’s such a cute kitten too. I like the collar. It’s a good idea, staking your claim before someone else does.” Bright eyes flicked back to him to make sure he was watching, Hisoka grinning wide. “He really is awfully sweet. Makes me want to pet the kitty a little too,” he laughed.

Chrollo tried to rip himself from the chains binding him to the pipes, glaring lividly at the man touching him. It was only then that Silva noticed that his suit had been unzipped to mid-chest.

“Oh, what’s this?” he wondered, taking in the patchwork of bruises littering the exposed skin. Gold eyes flicked up to jeer at him, his smile knowing and grating. “Did the big mean ol’ bat bite you? One collar wasn’t enough for him, huh?” Hisoka brushed his knuckles along the bare skin and Silva suddenly didn’t care what traps the man had planted. No one was allowed to touch Chrollo like that but him.

 “Get your hands off of him,” he spat, striding forward.

Hisoka sighed whimsically, tsking at him again. He shared a look with Chrollo, wrapping an arm around his shoulder as if they were old friends. “He’s really got quite a possessive streak in him, doesn’t he?” he observed, conjuring a playing card from thin air. The edge barely kissed Chrollo’s throat before Silva could manage to make it within ten feet of them.

He knew from personal experience just how sharp those deceptively thin cards were.

“You see, Batsy,” Hisoka began, sneaking his free hand inside the open slit, “I know you know that I don’t care much for the reward Falcone’s got on this lovely kitten’s head. That’s probably why he was so insistent on attracting my attention. It also means I don’t care one way or the other if this little kitten makes it out of this alive, so long as I have my fun.”

“Get to the point, Hisoka,” Silva grunted, the material of his gloves creaking from the strength of his clenched fists. Chrollo’s eyes were shut tight, his body shaking the more the man touched him.

The card cut a thin line in the slender throat, a trickle of blood running down his pale skin. “Patience, I’m getting there,” Hisoka hummed, licking the blood before it fell past the collar. “The point is, Bats, I’m only doing this because I’m bored. Pissing you off is always a good time, so let’s make this a good show for the kitten. What do you say?”

Chrollo opened his eyes and thrashed. Below the tape, his cheeks were flushed, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. He moaned pitifully through the gag.

“Oh, what’s wrong, sweetheart?” Hisoka crooned, keeping his eyes on Silva when he ripped the tape away from his mouth. “Let me hear you purr.”

Silva contemplated the odds of successfully lobbing the batarang at Hisoka while he harassed Chrollo, but the card was far too close to give him room for any margin of error. He tightened his grip on the metal projectile regardless, posed to act should the smallest opening occur.

Chrollo gasped for breath, his mouth red and slick from saliva. “Let me go,” he begged, the chains rattling as he tried to rip himself free from the pipes. “If you don’t want the bounty then just leave me alone—”

Hisoka brought his hand to the cat’s lips, shushing him with a grin that tried to look sincere. “I can’t just let you go, sweetheart,” he explained, pressing kisses to the corner of his eye. “I have to have my fun first.”

His heart in his throat, Silva ached to do something to save him. The thief’s shoulders hitched, his body straining against the restraints. Could he aim for the chain? If he hit at the thinnest link, would it set him free?

The thoughts swarming around his head came to a screeching halt when Chrollo turned into Hisoka’s space, sealing their lips together in a heated kiss. And of course, Hisoka kissed back readily. The hand with the card didn’t fall an inch, but his other knocked Chrollo’s hat aside, tangling in his hair to make him open his mouth.

They broke apart a moment later, Hisoka laughing breathlessly. “Well would you look at that, Batsy,” the Magician said, turning to gloat at Silva. “Your kitten likes me too.”

Chains rattled loudly, but it went ignored by them both. Silva bared his teeth, ready to risk it if he had to. So long as he got to him in time, it wouldn’t matter if he did cut Chrollo.

A claw-tipped hand weaseled free from the bindings. Silver glinted in the cat’s palm, a blade hidden up his sleeve.

Hisoka jolted and let out a pained yelp, ripping himself away from Chrollo with wide, shocked eyes.

“How many times do I have to tell you,” Chrollo grit, twisting the knife for good measure, “that I don’t need to be rescued?”

Silva gaped as Hisoka crumpled to the floor, clutching at the blade protruding from his side. It wouldn’t be enough to keep him down, the man’s relentless personality too much to simply stop with weapons alone.

Instinct kicked in and he didn’t wait for him to get back up. As Chrollo somehow shimmied out of the rest of his chains, Silva crossed the room and grabbed the man by the collar of his brightly colored outfti. “You’re going to regret every breath you took near him,” he snarled, dragging him from Chrollo before he could throw the card still clenched in his hand.

Hisoka’s grin never faltered an inch. “Oh, somehow I doubt I could ever regret a kiss like that,” he managed to say before Silva threw him across the warehouse floor. He groaned when the fall jostled his wound, but he was back up on his feet within seconds. With a flick of his fingers, he summoned up a full deck of cards, brandishing them with a pleased look. “This definitely was worth the effort.”

Chrollo came up behind Silva, pushing him to the side before he could make a charge at him himself. His mouth opened to tell him to stay back, but a cold glare cut him off before he could form the words.

“If you try to hold me back again, I swear I will stab you next,” Chrollo hissed dangerously.

Silva didn’t balk, but it was a close thing. “It’s not sa—” he began, only to be cut off mid word.

“If the sentence ‘It’s not safe’ comes out of your mouth,” he said silkily, a clawed hand landing gently on his chest, “I’m going to kill you first and then him.” The metal capped claws scratched down his armor, digging in hard enough to feel.

“Ooh, I’m sensing some deep seated trust issues between the two of you,” Hisoka teased, tapping the flat face of a card against his lips as he watched them. “Is he as overbearing as I think he is? You should come be my kitty. I’d keep you purring all the time.”

Chrollo turned his burning glare over to the rogue, and for a moment, Silva breathed easier.

He was on him in a second, his claws posed to rip and tear at the jester’s outfit the man called his costume. Hisoka rolled into the weight, abandoning his cards for brute strength. Silva didn’t know what to do. The two grappled on the ground, Hisoka’s flesh shredding under Chrollo’s assault.

There was no clear shot to take, and the ferocity on the thief’s face made him hesitate to jump in himself. So he stood there, dumbstruck, watching as Chrollo executed a flawless maneuver to avoid Hisoka’s hands. He jabbed the man in the throat and then sunk in his claws, a beatific grin on his face when the redhead began to choke.

“Why waste your time with a stiff like that?” Hisoka wheezed, rolling his hips into Chrollo above him, his grin lewd and reflecting none of the severity of his situation. “You’d look so good on my cock, kitten. We could have some fun together.”

Chrollo smiled so sweetly at him, looking like the angel of death. With his knees crushing the Magician’s arms, there was no way to throw him off. “Maybe if you kissed better,” he murmured.

Hisoka opened his mouth to retort, but he hadn’t managed a single sound before Chrollo slammed his head into the cement once, twice, three times, knocking him out cold.

All Silva could do was stare and gape.

“I’ve never seen you move like that before,” he managed to say, watching Chrollo flick the blood from his claws. Streaks of it marred the pale expanse of his cheeks, dark red harsh against the porcelain white. He looked deadly.

He looked like a predator.

Chrollo smiled wryly, prowling up to him with something unreadable in his eyes. “You’ve never thought me capable of it, is what you meant to say,” he corrected, shoving him aside to pick up his fallen hat and goggles. He settled them both back on his head and then zipped up his suit to his collarbones. “I can take care of myself, B. I’ve always taken care of myself.”

“How did you get free from that?” he pressed, his attention torn between the thief and the bleeding mass that was Hisoka. They’d have to restrain him before he awoke, and send for the authorities. “You were chained up.”

“You don’t give me enough credit,” Chrollo frowned, shoving past him to kneel in the puddle of chains by the pipes. It clattered noisily when he dug his hand through the metal links, pulling from the bottom a broken piece of steel. “I’m a thief, B. I know how to pick locks. I know how to get out of tight spaces.”

It was only then that he noticed Chrollo’s hand. His thumb was bent out at an unnatural angle, dislocated from the joint. “You slipped your hand out and picked the padlock,” he surmised, seeing that the pipes were full of splintering shards of metal from countless years of pressure bursts and rust damage.

Chrollo ignored him, gritting his teeth and popping the joint back into place with a muted grunt. The moment it was done, he was moving. Grabbing a handful of chain, he threw it messily at Silva, glaring up at him with a look that said he wasn’t to be trifled with.

“Tie him up and see how much he likes it,” he ordered, throwing an acidic look at Hisoka. “If this is the infamous Magician, then I wonder about your effectiveness. That was child’s play.”

Silva huffed out a breath and did as he was told. “Some of us don’t have your skills of distraction,” he muttered, making the chains tight enough to bruise. He hoped Hisoka woke up daze, confused, and in excruciating pain for all the liberties he took.

“Maybe you would if you got your head out of your ass and were prepared to do what you had to,” Chrollo scoffed, the pain and stress making him acerbic. His shoulders were beginning to shake, more from shock than the faux fear he wore earlier like a mask. He wrapped his arms around himself and rested on his haunches.

“You’re in shock,” Silva realized, unclipping his cape to drape around the thief’s narrow shoulders. “We need to get you some place where you can rest.”

Chrollo glared up at him, accepting the cape but not his touch. “I want to go home,” he hissed. “I want this damned collar off my neck and I want to go home.”

Hisoka made a muffled groan, a physical reminder of why Chrollo couldn’t have any of that. Silva knelt down beside him, his hand hovering over his shoulder but not touching. He didn’t know if he had that right anymore.

“You know you can’t go home,” he said gently, wanting nothing more than to run his fingers through the dark, mussed hair. He settled on pulling out some disinfecting wipes, cleaning the blood from Chrollo’s face. “If you go home now, more like him will come. They won’t stop coming until you’re dead or the hit’s been called off.”

The thief hid his face in his knees, wrapping his arms around himself like a miserable child. “How do I get the hit called off?” he asked, his voice muffled.

Silva gave in, running his hand down Chrollo’s back. “I have some ideas,” he told him, something loosening in his heart when Chrollo deigned to peek up at him, some of his old curiosity kindling.

He lifted his head a moment later, his brow furrowing. “What’s the catch?” he demanded, looking pointedly at the hand near the utility belt. “If you even think of trying to—”

“I just need you to come back to my base with me,” he interjected with a sigh, not wanting to hear what Chrollo thought he’d do. “I’ve got files on Falcone. Everything I’ve ever been able to gather about him, and more. We’ll go over it and I’ll show you what my ideas are.”

Chrollo stared at him with distrust, his small hand still trembling where it was clenched in the thick fabric of the cape. “I don’t have much choice,” he said bitterly, glaring down at the dirty floor.

Silva sighed, standing up with his hand outstretched for Chrollo to take. “Is it really so bad trusting me a little?” he asked, wondering how things had gotten so out of control.

It took a minute, but eventually his hand was taken. Chrollo weight nothing when he pulled him to his feet, the cape on his shoulders heavier than him. “I want choices,” he said, dropping Silva’s hand the second he was upright. “I want to be able to say no and not die because of it.”

There was nothing he could say to make it better, so Silva just pressed the button on his communicator that would summon the police. He rattled off the situation as they walked, guiding Chrollo through the warehouse until they reached the car outside.

Darkness had fallen around them, time progressing without their acknowledgment. He settled Chrollo inside the car and looked up at the sky. He knew it would be awhile yet before they could call their night over. The car thrummed to life and he turned onto the open road.

For Chrollo’s sake, he hoped it ended sooner rather than later.


	7. Chapter 7

To say the car ride was spent in terse silence would be kind. Silva kept his eyes on the road, knowing all too well that Chrollo would catch him in an instant if he tried to take him in subtly.

“I’m surprised you decided not to sedate me again,” Chrollo finally said, his words sharpened to a razor-fine point. The bright orange of the shock blanket almost glowed in the dark of the car’s interior. “For a minute there, I thought that might be a requirement to ride in your car.”

“Not the car itself, but the destination,” Silva answered, not rising to the bait. They weren’t going to argue about that now, not when they’d just survived the first attempt on Chrollo’s life. “It’s sensitive information. It’s better not to give out the locations of my bases of operation.”

Chrollo stared at him, his eyes drilling holes in the side of his cheek. “We’re going back to your home, aren’t we? What’s changed this time?” he snipped, wrapping the blanket around himself tighter.

Silva turned a bit to meet his eye. “Because you know who I am,” he said simply. “It’s a matter of public record where I live.”

There wasn’t much there to give him ammunition for a smart-mouthed rebuttal. Chrollo faced the window and slouched petulantly in the seat, watching the city and then countryside pass by.

“How did you find me?” he muttered, steadfastly avoiding eye contact. “I was gone for hours. The bike got ditched.”

Silva really didn’t want to look at him now. He chewed the inside of his cheek and went over his options for excuses in numerical order of how bad they came off. Lying might be worse than telling the truth, but that may not apply when the truth involved high-end tracking equipment imbedded in the collar he fastened to him without his consent.

Chrollo sensed his reluctance, turning his head slowly with a glare that could melt steel.

He swallowed, throwing caution to the wind.

“I installed a tracking device in the collar,” he admitted, facing forward resolutely. They were traveling too fast for Chrollo to try and throw himself from the car, and the seatbelts wouldn’t allow him to attack Silva directly.

There was silence, and then there was a low hiss of breath being exhaled through clenched teeth.

“In the charm or in the band?” Chrollo spat, his claw-tipped gloves gouging the seat’s upholstery.

“The band.”

He knew why he was asking. If it were just the charm, he could smash it or figure out a way to rip it from the leather. There were far less options with the tracker being woven into the band itself.

Silva put thought into it. It wasn’t meant to come off. He took precautions to make sure it wouldn’t.

Turning into the hidden drive, he drove them up the rugged backroad and through the waterfall entrance to the cave. Chrollo, as angry as he was, didn’t seem to care about the impressiveness of the display. He just curled into the seat and glared hotly at the dashboard, looking more than ready to get away from him.

As soon as they came to a stop, he was already out of his seatbelt and going for the handle, the blanket discarded in the seat.

Silva hit the locks before Chrollo could open his door.

“Oh, god, what is it now?” he groaned, turning to look at him. “I promise I won’t steal your special bat-treasure if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Well, that’s comforting, but not what I wanted to say,” Silva said. “Robin is on monitor duty. I don’t want you scaring him.”

Chrollo raised a brow, a smile finally cracking the hard expression that had taken up residence on his face.

“Me? Scary?” he scoffed, going for the door again. “I’ll be a perfect angel, Silva.”

He didn’t believe that, but he acquiesced, unlocking the car so they could get out.

They exited onto the platform that led up to the center of the cave. Chrollo was noticeably taken aback by the size of the place, his head tilted up to look at the bats staring down at them from the rock above. It kept him quiet as they approached, and a distracted Chrollo was a behaving Chrollo.

Kalluto was curled up in the chair before the monitor, tapping away at a spare tablet. “You’re finally back?” he called out, not bothering to look up. “What was so important that you had to stay out all night?”

Before Silva could answer, Chrollo cut in with no warning. “Sorry about that,” he said smoothly, smiling when Kalluto nearly fell out of the seat. “I promise I brought him home in one piece.”

If he expected Kalluto to be shocked or surprised, he didn’t see it. Instead, his youngest threw himself from the chair and ran towards them, grabbing Chrollo around the middle in a hug.

“Stray!” he exclaimed, looking up at the thief excitedly. “Ohmygosh, I can’t believe you’re here in the cave! Since when was this allowed?”

Chrollo smiled warmly at the boy and went down on his knees, enveloping him in a hug. His fingers trailed carefully through his dark hair. “It’s good to see you too, kitten. How are the little ones? Are they eating well?” he asked. His eyes met Silva’s and he smirked, as if rubbing it in his face that he was close with his son.

Kalluto looked up from having his face pressed against Chrollo’s chest, nodding his head. “They’re eating really well! I did what you said, soft cat food with milk. Gotoh even went out and bought little cartons of real cat’s milk!” he rambled, his nose wrinkling. “Did you know you can buy real cat’s milk? Isn’t that weird? Where do they even get it?”

Laughing kindly, the thief stroked through his hair like one would a particularly affectionate pet. “I know, isn’t it silly? It’s good for the little ones though,” he chuckled. “Sounds like you’ve been taking very good care of them. Good job, kitten.”

“Do you want to see them?” the boy asked, bouncing on the tips of his toes.

Silva was almost surprised when Chrollo looked to him for permission. He half expected the thief to take over jurisdiction of his home completely. Looking between the pleading look of his son and the waiting thief, he sighed.

“Are they in your room?” he asked Kalluto, keeping his voice unreadable.

The boy nodded, his cheek still pressed to Chrollo’s shoulder. He didn’t seem to want to let him go.

“Bring them to the living room and wait for us,” he decided. “We’ll be up after we go over some business.”

Chrollo smiled at him and Kalluto looked more animated than he’d ever seen him look before. Petting his head one last time, Chrollo nudged him off, rising to his feet as the boy sprinted up the stairs towards the secret entrance to the manor. He waited until Kalluto was gone before turning towards the thief, his pointed look strong even through his cowl.

“Don’t give me that look,” Chrollo huffed, crossing his arms. “So we bonded a bit before I saved you from that thug with the gun. It’s not my fault that your kid likes me.”

He pulled back the cowl and raised a brow. Chrollo stared right back.

“I can’t believe you told him how to take care of the kittens. You planned that entire thing, didn’t you?”

An innocent smile on his face, Chrollo shrugged and made for the monitor. “All cats deserve a good home,” he said simply, staring at the wide array of screens and devices that made up the cave’s processing center. “Is it safe to assume that we came here to use this technological monstrosity?”

Silva scoffed and sat down in the chair, bringing up the open case file he had on Falcone. “Insult it like that again and maybe we won’t use it,” he said, glaring at the cheeky cat. It didn’t do much beyond make Chrollo roll his eyes.

He shoved Silva’s arm off the armrest to perch there himself, draping himself along Silva’s shoulder to watch him type. The contact was more a taunt than a bid for actual affection. “Fine then, I’m sorry. What are we looking for?” he asked, dark eyes skimming the text as it rolled by. “You still haven’t told me what we’re planning on doing to rid me of this annoying hit.”

“We’re going to find out Falcone’s current location,” Silva began, a bit distracted as he found the folder he was looking for in the forest of information.

“And then what?” Chrollo supplied helpfully, tugging curiously at the base of his ponytail.

He stopped his data search to grab the hand, bringing it away from his hair. He hadn’t factored in how distracting it would be to have the thief in the cave like this. “And then we get him to take down the bounty,” he finished, turning back to the screen.

Chrollo stared at him in disbelief. “That’s it?” he asked, this time yanking on his ponytail until he met his eyes again. “We’re just going to waltz on into his private estate and ask him nicely? Is that the plan? Cause if it is, I think I’d be better off solving this problem myself.”

It was Silva’s turn to roll his eyes. “Just shut up and look,” he snapped, pointing at the document he had up.

Instead of just reading from his claimed perch, Chrollo batted aside his arm and slid into his lap. “What am I looking at here?” the thief asked flatly, his eyes shifting as he read. The further down he got, the slacker his face went, his lips parting.

He turned to Silva, eyes wide. “Is this true?” he whispered.

With him this close, he couldn’t quite resist the impulse to wrap his arms around the thief’s middle. “It is,” he said into Chrollo’s ear, fitting his hands along the bruises he knew lay just below the thin leather. “And that is how we get him to call it off. Is it a good idea, or would you rather come up with your own idea to solve this problem?”

Chrollo reclined against his chest, resting his head in the crook of Silva’s neck. “I think this might just work,” he breathed, taking him by the chin to turn him into a soft kiss. “I just have one stipulation.”

“And what’s that?” Silva murmured, cupping him gently through his suit to make him gasp.

“I get to be the one to give Falcone the bad news,” he grinned, arching into his touch.

Silva frowned and pulled back an inch. “That’s too dangerous,” he said. “You’ll get yourself shot before you even make it past the front gates.”

The thief frowned right back and raised a brow, his annoyance palpable. “I got past your defenses just fine, in case you forgot.” He turned in his lap, his back against the armrest instead of his chest so he could glare up at him properly. “Do I need to give you a reminder on how capable I actually am, or do I have to knock you out now and do this by myself?”

“You couldn’t take me,” Silva growled, staring into cocky eyes. The affection from before had been a ruse. Chrollo was still very much angry with him and hell-bent on getting his way.

“Do you really want to test that theory?” he shot back. “I’d hate to have to leave before getting to see the kittens your kid has worked so hard to care for.”

He could imagine it now. Kalluto sitting upstairs, surrounded by the litter of kittens and excitedly awaiting Chrollo. Kalluto being so disappointed when he told him that the thief had taken off without even a goodbye. Silva didn’t want to do that to the boy. No parent would want that.

Chrollo never did play fair.

“If I allow this,” he started, his grip firm on Chrollo’s hips as if to keep him from leaving, “I have to be with you. I’m not going to let you go alone. You can be the one to do it, but I expect to be there every step of the way.”

Now that he’d gotten what he wanted, Chrollo was affectionate again. He curled into his chest and kissed his neck. Silva was beginning to sense a pattern forming. “Of course,” he crooned, tapping his claws on the bat emblem on his chest. “You should take this off so we can go upstairs.”

“Just so we can go upstairs?” he hedged, running a hand down Chrollo’s thigh.

The claws fell to his glove, pulling his hand from his leg. “Yes,” he whispered, pushing on Silva’s shoulder to climb out of his lap. “I’m still mad at you. You only get me when I feel like you’ve earned it.”

Silva let out a sigh through clenched teeth, willing away his desire. It wasn’t that surprising, so he didn’t let it get to him like Chrollo no doubt wanted. “And finding the solution to your problem isn’t enough?” he asked, standing up to go to the changing area.

“Take off this collar and I might consider it,” Chrollo shot back, wandering over to the trophies displayed along the far wall of the cave. “I’m shocked your kid didn’t notice it.”

Oh, he noticed it, Silva wanted to say, but he kept his mouth shut and stripped down, changing into the sweats he kept down here for after patrol. “Wouldn’t that be a bad idea?” he asked, closing the case that held his armor. “It came in handy when you were kidnapped.”

Dark eyes glared at him, burning even from half a room away. “We’re going to have a lengthy talk later about how pissed I am at you for embedding a tracker in this thing,” he hissed, staring up at him when he approached.

“But for now?”

Chrollo sighed, crossing his arms. “For now, we go upstairs so I don’t hurt a small child’s feelings,” he said. He pulled the claw-tipped gloves from his fingers, slapping them against Silva’s chest to hold. “Lead the way.”

 Looking at them up close, he could feel the stiff slit that hit the blade at the base of the palms. So that’s how he did it, he thought, putting the gloves in the pocket of his pants. Not his sleeve, but something cleverer. What other secrets was he still hiding in that outfit?

Rolling his eyes a bit, Silva started up the stone steps. “His name is Kalluto,” he said quietly, looking back at Chrollo. “I don’t know if you knew that, but that’s his name.”

His angry expression softening, Chrollo nodded. “Is he your son?” he asked. “I assumed, but I really didn’t know for sure.”

“Yeah,” he gave. Silva wasn’t sure why he was volunteering the information, but it only felt right to. “He’s the youngest of five. The others don’t live here.”

“Wow. I don’t think I ever imagined you as the family type. Am I a mistress or…?” Chrollo led, his tone coming off as joking, but a thread of seriousness lingered below, like he might be bothered to hear he was.

Silva put his hand on the knob to the entrance into the manor, turning back to look at the beautiful thief. “Their mother lives overseas. We aren’t married, but whatever we have is…open,” he explained tersely, turning the handle to end the discussion before it got even more informative.

A slender hand fell to his arm before he could open it, Chrollo bringing his attention back to him and him alone.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said. “I appreciate you letting me know.”

Silva just nodded, stepping into the manor.

The walk to the living area was quiet, filled with the wide eyed stare of Chrollo taking in the furnishings with an appreciative air. Silva wondered if he were considering stopping by sometime alone to help himself to the wealth no doubt tempting his sticky fingers. He reached back and wrapped a hand around the thief’s small wrist, keeping him at his side with a knowing look.

They entered the living room, the only brightly lit room in the house given the hour, and found the space full of energy. Just as he’d expected, Kalluto was buried under a mountain of whiskers and paws, waiting for them patiently.

“Oh, look how big they’ve gotten!” Chrollo cooed, pushing past him to bury himself in the mound of fur too. He picked up a fluffy black kitten, kissing its nose happily. “You’ve done a great job with them, kitten,” he praised, turning to Kalluto with a kind smile. “They feel like they’ve gained a lot of weight since I last saw them.”

Kalluto’s eyes were as wide as the cat’s in his lap. “Do you really think so?” he asked shyly, hiding a little behind the gray kitten. “I gave them all names, if that’s alright.”

Silva settled in the wide armchair behind them, watching with something like pride as his lover bonded with his son. It felt more domestic than what he and Chrollo shared, but it wasn’t a bad feeling.

“Honey, they’re all yours, you can name them whatever you want,” Chrollo chuckled, petting Kalluto this time. A tiny orange one tumbled into his lap, doing its best to scale the slick fabric covering his knee. “What’s this little tyke’s name?”

Brushing his hair behind his ear, Kalluto pet the soft orange fur. “I didn’t know if they were boys or girls so I just gave them dessert names,” he admitted, a bit of a blush settling in on his cheeks. “That one is Sherbet.”

Chrollo looked so utterly charmed that Silva had to cover his face with his hand to keep from making a sound. His cheeks flushed too and he pointed at the gray one in Kalluto’s lap. “What about this one?” he managed to ask, his smile so wide it must ache.

The boy looked at the cat in question with a look of utmost seriousness. “That one is Marshmallow,” he said.

He pointed at the two calico twins currently locked in heated combat with each other.

“Caramel and Toffee,” Kalluto gave, pointing out each in turn. “You can tell the difference because Toffee has a pure black ear and Caramel’s has a spot of orange on it.”

“How very clever,” Chrollo said, holding up the fluffy black one that had made itself at home on his thigh. “And this little fluff-ball?”

Kalluto wrinkled his nose. “His name is Licorice since he’s got a bad attitude sometimes,” he explained.

“Sounds like your dad to me,” Chrollo teased, looking at Silva with a mischievous glimmer in his eye. The two of them shared a laugh together.

Silva crossed his arms and glared, a kitten wandering over to nuzzle his ankle. “Keep this up and I’ll toss the lot of you out,” he threatened, the words softened by the petulant frown he no doubt wore and the ball of fur ruining his intimidating air.

“Don’t worry,” Chrollo whispered conspiratorially to Kalluto behind his hand. “If he does, you all can come live with me.”

“You’d have to actually clean out the month-old pizza boxes to make room for all of them,” Silva said, making Kalluto laugh.

Black eyes turned up to glare at him, Chrollo crossing his arms. “What’s this last one’s name?” he asked to Kalluto, effectively ignoring him while he sulked. The little tiger kitten clawing at Silva’s ankle was the only one left.

Shifting a bit on the floor, Kalluto looked bashful. “That one was hard to name,” he mumbled, avoiding their eyes.

“I’m sure it’s a lovely name,” Chrollo encouraged, smiling gently.

The boy hid his face in his hands and mumbled the name too softly to be heard.

“One more time, kitten?” He reached out and gently tugged the hands from Kalluto’s face. “It’s just me. I won’t make fun of it.”

“Pudding,” the boy muttered, but it was loud enough to be heard in the quiet room.

There was a beat of silence before Chrollo erupted in uncontrollable laughter.

“Is that dumb?” Kalluto asked, his face beet red. “Are those bad cat names?”

Chrollo bit his lip and pulled the boy in for a hug, laughing so hard Silva almost thought he saw tears in his eyes. “No, no, kitten, no, these are the best cat names I’ve ever heard,” he swore, his laughter contagious. “I love pudding, and I love Pudding.” Silva stifled a chuckle.

Kalluto held tightly to the thief’s suit. “That’s good,” he sighed, his breath a bit shaky. “I want them to have good names. I wanna be a good cat parent.”

“You’re going to do great, Kalluto,” Chrollo assured him, pulling away to fix the child’s messy hair. “And if you need any help at all, have your dad get ahold of me. I’ll teach you all the secrets I know about kitten-rearing.”

He looked over to Silva, as if asking if that were true. “If you need help, I can call him,” he sighed, looking at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was almost 5 a.m. “Kalluto, it’s well past your bedtime.”

The boy looked heartbroken, but the dark bags beneath his eyes were testament enough to the late hour. Chrollo petted his head and gave him a quick hug. “The kittens need to rest too,” he said. “And you’re included in that.”

“Will you be here when I wake up?” he asked, gathering the straying kittens into their basket.

Chrollo bit his lip and looked to Silva, unsure of what to say. Silva rubbed at his eyes, not quite sure himself either.

“Stray’s going to stay the night with us,” he decided on a whim. “It’s dangerous for him right now, so we’re going to keep him safe.”

Thankfully, Chrollo went with it without a fuss. “Yeah,” he said, throwing a subtle glare at Silva before snagging up an escaping kitten to add to the growing pile. “I need you to protect me, so rest up.”

Kalluto looked determined to do just that. He hefted the basket of kittens and made for the door. “Goodnight, dad,” he said, pausing in the threshold. “Night, Stray.”

“Goodnight,” they both replied, meeting eyes. It was almost like they were an old married couple.

Once the boy had left and Silva heard the soft sound of his door closing, he leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “Sorry about that,” he heard himself say. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. I can make up some excuse when he wakes up.”

Chrollo sighed and rolled onto his feet, standing up. “No, no,” he let out, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t lie to the kid. Staying one more night with you won’t kill me.”

Silva took in the tight leather suit and the eared hat still on his head. “I think I have some of my eldest’s clothes still in a room. They might be more comfortable than that,” he offered, standing up as well.

Tugging the hat off his head, he nodded. “I could use some painkillers too,” he said, letting Silva lead the way towards the bedrooms.

“Are you hurt?” he asked sharply, turning to read the movements of his body for any sign of a hidden wound. It hadn’t looked like he’d been hit during the confrontation, but he had no idea what sorts of things Hisoka might have done to him during the hours before he got there.

Chrollo shook him off and kept walking. “I’m just sore,” he groused. “I dislocated a thumb today, Silva.”

He let it be, but he felt responsible nonetheless. Illumi’s room was at the top of the stairs and he opened the door, making for the closet. There wouldn’t be much of a selection with Illumi living predominantly in Bludhaven now, but he still kept a couple of outfits here for when he visited.

“He’s taller than you, but these should fit you better than anything of mine will,” Silva explained, handing him the cotton sleep pants and t-shirt. “I’ll get you some medicine while you change.”

“Thanks,” Chrollo mumbled, already moving to unzip his suit. Silva left before he caught more than a glimpse of half-healed bruises and bite marks.

They kept fully stocked first aid kits in every room and bathroom, just in case something happened. Ducking into Illumi’s en suite, he pulled it from beneath the sink and rooted around in it for the pain killers. Now that he took a minute to think about it, Chrollo was in surprisingly good order given all that he had been through in the last twenty-four hours.

Setting aside the hours of captivity in heavy chains and the damage done to him in transit, he’d also had a pretty rough night with Silva. Add in the hangover from the tranquilizers, and it was almost shocking that the thief had done all he had in the fight against the Magician.

He closed up the kit and put it back beneath the sink, filling up a glass with water to take with him. It was impressive. Silva wondered if perhaps he’d been a bit overzealous in thinking that Chrollo needed someone else’s protection.

The thief in question was just tugging on the shirt when he came back into the room, his chest a mottled mess of love bites and welts from struggling against the heavy chain. He didn’t look phased when he caught Silva staring. Instead, he reached for the pills and water, taking them quickly and draining the glass dry.

“Where do I sleep?” he asked, dragging Silva away from his thoughts.

“What?”

Chrollo sighed tiredly, pressing the cup into his chest until he took it back. “I figure you’re probably not going to have me sleep in your son’s room. Where am I sleeping tonight?” he repeated, the exhaustion catching up with him now that the leather was off.

That was a good question. “We have guest rooms but I don’t think they’re made up,” he thought out loud. “I could wake Gotoh up and have him fix you up a room—”

“You are not going to wake up your butler just for that,” Chrollo let out, looking annoyed at the very thought. “Just take me to your room. If I’m going to inconvenience someone, I’d rather it be you.”

“That’s very charitable of you,” Silva chuckled, leading him down the hallway towards the master bedroom. As they walked, he took advantage of Chrollo’s exhausted state to finally give him a proper once over.

Just as he thought, the clothes were still too big for Chrollo’s petite frame. The pants were rolled up at both the waistband and feet, the shirt hanging off one slim shoulder. His collar looked almost out of place given what he was wearing, but it still sent a sliver of pride down Silva’s spine when he took it in.

It was another matter entirely seeing Chrollo inside his bedroom.

Chrollo walked in with little fanfare, too worn out to really take in the luxury or decorations. He made for the bed with singular intent, leaving Silva by the door to watch.

“Leave it to you to have a bed big enough for ten people,” he heard the thief mutter, crawling up onto the mattress to tear the carefully made sheets apart. For all his complaints and aloofness, Chrollo looked so at home in his bed that it was as if he were made for it.

Silva closed the door behind him and turned off the lights, letting the first inklings of dawn light his way to the bed. The heavy curtains blocked out most of it, but a dim glow gave him more than enough to see. He stripped off his shirt and got in on the other side, sliding in until he could envelope Chrollo in his arms.

“Is this okay?” he asked quietly, running his fingers along the smooth fabric of his shirt sleeve.

Chrollo mumbled something unintelligible, already asleep. He curled into the embrace though, and that was enough permission for Silva.

Maybe later, after they’d slept and washed away the stress of the night, they’d be able to confront what they still had yet to say.


	8. Chapter 8

Silva was far too used to waking every few hours to sleep through the morning peacefully. He opened his eyes to find the thief still out like a light, curled up against his chest as if seeking the warmth he offered. The clock on the bedside table flashed silently at him over a small, pale shoulder, telling him it was past noon and time to get to work.

He ignored it though, savoring the sight of having Chrollo in his arms. What little light managed to stream through the curtains graced his form in a soft glow, making him look like something that existed only in poetry. Silva kissed his soft lips and pulled away, contenting himself with the smallest of tastes so he wouldn’t wake him. Chrollo had had a difficult day, and any rest he got was sorely owed to him.

It took every ounce of stealth and training he possessed to untangle himself from the soft, slender arms without disturbing his sleep. Silva went slowly, letting Chrollo cuddle his pillow the moment he freed himself enough to leave the bed.

If he would ever grow used to the years that seemed to fall away when Chrollo was defenseless and unaware, Silva didn’t know. He let himself stroke through his hair, dragging himself away from the bed before he fell prey to the overwhelming desire to crawl back into the sheets and kiss him until he woke.

There were things to do. He couldn’t afford distractions, least of all ones that kept him from cleaning up the thief’s current mess.

Silva sighed quietly and made for the en suite bathroom, running a hand through his own hair as the weight of the incoming night settled on his shoulders. If he really cared for results, he’d wake Chrollo too and make him help, but the image of him chained up and near tears flashed behind his eyes, driving him forward and away from the bed.

The coolness of his bathroom helped to snap him from the heavy thoughts. His pants fell to the floor in a heap and he kicked them towards the laundry basket, eager for a shower to clear his mind and offer him some clarity. He turned on the spray and savored the hot water that streamed out, so thankful for the money he put into the water heater to deliver it fast and immediately.

Turning his head into the spray, he wet his hair and coiled it into his hand, draping it over a shoulder in a single mass. It felt good, the hard patter of the water streaming onto his tired body. He scrubbed at his face and then reached for the shower gel, washing his body of the sweat and grime.

He tilted his face into the spray with his eyes closed, knowing he’d be covered in it again come evening. The severity of the situation wouldn’t let them rest on their laurels. Hisoka, as unpredictable as he was and loyal to no one but himself, would have no doubt told the officers who came to apprehend him of Batman’s sudden fixation on Stray. Linking Stray with Chrollo was no wide leap to make, and it was only a matter of time before the officers on Falcone’s payroll reported in the new information.

When the threat of Batman came into play, even a man like Falcone would up the security around his private residence. He’d need to go over the layout of the building and plan the best path of infiltration. With Chrollo insisting on handling this personally, Silva had a feeling he’d need all the contingencies he could get.

The soft sound of bare feet padding along the bathroom tile cut through his thoughts, followed by the quiet shuffle of falling fabric. He glanced through the fogged glass and watched Chrollo pull back the shower door, letting himself in without a word.

“Good morning,” he said with a bit of a laugh, moving to the side so he could join him. “Didn’t feel like waiting your turn?”

“What?” Chrollo asked defensively, sleep still clinging to the corners of his eyes as he stepped under the spray. “This shower’s big enough for a dozen people, you can stand to share for ten minutes.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Silva chuckled, drinking in the sight of him warming slowly in the water. He reached for the shampoo, working it into his hair while Chrollo just stood there, his eyes blinking resolutely in attempts to wake up. “Did you sleep well?”

Chrollo made an inarticulate grunt and leaned into his chest, too tired to bother supporting himself. “I can’t move my thumb,” he mumbled, accepting the hands that came up to wash his hair too.

Silva rinsed the soap from his hair patiently before he reached for the thief’s hand, bringing it up to examine it. “We should have you tested to make sure you didn’t tear anything,” he murmured, the skin hot and mottled with a nasty bruise. “Are you used to dislocating it?”

“That was the first time,” Chrollo groaned, yanking his hand back when Silva began to prod at it. “I think I need more pain killers.” His cheek turned down into a frown that Silva could feel against his chest.

Instead of answering, Silva turned him around to face the spray. The body wash was on a rack by his shoulder. He took it in hand, staring down to meet Chrollo’s dark eyes. It went unspoken between them, the question and then the permission given in return. Black eyes closed, Chrollo sighing sweetly when he began to wash him.

Silva felt himself begin to heat up watching Chrollo curl into him, wearing his scent like it was made for him. He tried his best to keep his touch light, for more than just propriety. The bruises had deepened during the night. If he looked closely, he could make out the shape of the chain links stamped into his pale skin.

“Do they hurt?” he whispered, guiding the cloth over the cat’s ribs.

Chrollo sighed shakily, taking him by the wrist to bring his hand lower. “Yeah,” he said. “Make it better, Silva. I don’t want to think about any of it.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Bringing his lips to Chrollo’s jaw, he let the cloth drop to the shower floor, taking the thief in hand. “Are you finally forgiving me?” he breathed, savoring the weight of him as he shivered. His own cock hung hard and heavy between his legs, pressed against the cleft of Chrollo’s ass.

The thief sagged, only kept upright by the arm Silva looped carefully around his chest. “What would give you that impression?” he gasped, his cheeks reddening the more Silva rubbed against him. “I’m still furious with you,” he said, looking up with lust-darkened eyes. The collar chimed gently, the charm swaying with every involuntary movement of Chrollo’s body. 

Silva chuckled, leaning down to kiss him. “You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t believe you,” he teased, venturing his hand lower to brush Chrollo’s entrance.

“What’s not to believe?” he demanded, but his words were softened by the needy, broken moan the touch incited. “I can be angry and still let you touch me.”

He could say whatever he wanted, but Silva still didn’t buy it. Humming, he rested his chin on Chrollo’s shoulder. “I’m happy you’re letting me touch you,” he admitted, guiding Chrollo forward until he leaned against the wall. There was a shower bar built into the tile, giving the thief something to hold onto while Silva explored. “I missed seeing you like this.”

Chrollo took it in hand and looked back at him over his shoulder, trying so hard to keep his expression firm. “Don’t get used to it, I’m going back to hating you just as soon as I’m done,” he insisted. His forehead fell to the wet tile a moment later though, his eyes closing in pleasure when Silva stroked him faster.

Every sound he made echoed beautifully off the shower walls. Silva plastered himself along the thief’s back, lifting him by the thighs to get him up higher. The bar bore his weight as Silva began fucking between his thighs to satiate his own hunger. Chrollo was warm, wet, his skin so beautifully soft beneath his hands. He may not have gotten his perfect morning with him, but this was as close as they’d been able to manage so far.

With a flick of his wrist and a gentle nip to Chrollo’s ear, he had him cumming against the wall. “If this is you hating me,” he said against the delicate shell, “I think I’d turn into a hedonist with your love.” The words made him shake, his thighs tightening to bring him off as well. Silva gave in to his release with a low moan, trapping the cat between the wall and his chest as his orgasm tore through him.

The water pounded down his back, keeping them warm while they caught their breath. Before long though, Chrollo grew impatient from the contact, squirming and whining until Silva deigned to back away. In some ways, he was just like a feline, seeking and spurning touch at the drop of a hat. Any mess still clinging to them was washed away a moment later, but the pleasure-drunk look remained apparent on Chrollo’s face. If he really were his namesake, Silva knew he’d be purring.

He tilted his head up for a kiss, letting Silva keep him upright. “I wanna go back to bed now,” he mumbled, staring up with tired eyes. “Is that okay?”

Silva did a quick calculation. It was nearing one in the afternoon, and they wouldn’t be able to do anything to Falcone until night fell. “We need to get your hand checked out,” he said, cupping his cheek to brush the damp strands of hair from his eyes. It was unbelievable how beautiful he was. Silva would never get accustomed to it.

The thief frowned. “I can do that later.”

It wasn’t ideal, but they had time. Silva sighed, unable to find it in himself to say no when Chrollo was being sweet like this. Kissing him once last time, he turned off the water and reached for a towel to dry him off. “You can sleep for a bit longer,” he told him as he dried his hair. “But I want Gotoh to look at your hand the moment you wake up.”

Chrollo’s hair was a wild mess when he brought the towel away, wrapping the cloth around him to hold off the shivers Silva could already see beginning. “Are you coming back to bed too?” he asked, sounding a bit shy. His cheeks still held their flushed color. It made him look so young, so delicate. Silva wondered if this were another ploy, or simply how he acted after intimate moments. It said something about their relationship that he didn’t know the answer.

“I can’t,” he sighed, picking him up because he wanted to and could. The thief weight nothing at all, and he looked at home with his head against his chest. “I need to start preparing for tonight. Come downstairs when you wake up, and I’ll get you some breakfast, okay?”

Chrollo didn’t complain or disagree, burrowing into the blankets the moment Silva put him down. His bruised hand lay on the pillow beside his head, his eyes closing the instant he settled. “I want meat,” he mumbled, reciprocating the kiss Silva gave him sloppily.

“You can have whatever you want,” Silva smiled, smoothing back his damp hair. He didn’t think he heard him though, sleep dragging him down too quickly. As much as he wanted to stay there, the temptation to curl back up and sleep for a few hours stronger with Chrollo sleeping so peacefully in his bed, he had more pressing matters to attend to.

Before all of that though, he needed to get dressed. He went to the closet and pulled on a shirt and some pants, and then went to where Chrollo had dropped his pajamas to gather those up for the laundry. He’d have Gotoh fetch some more of Illumi’s clothes for him when he awoke. He left the room and threw the clothing down the laundry chute, heading downstairs to see where everyone else was.

He met Kalluto at the foot of the stairs, the kittens crawling all over him as he lay on the hardwood laughing. “Is Stray awake yet?” he asked instead of a greeting, sitting up and sending three kittens tumbling down into his lap.

Silva sighed, too understanding to be frustrated at the blind devotion Chrollo had managed to evoke in his youngest. “No, he’s still sleeping. He had a rough day yesterday,” he explained, carefully stepping over the boy and the cats. “Have you seen Gotoh?”

Kalluto nodded, helping the white kitten climb up and perch on his narrow shoulder. “I saw him in the kitchen when I went to get them their breakfast.”

He took a couple seconds to debate going to him himself, and settled on delegating. “Can you go tell him to bring Stray some of Illumi’s clothes?” he asked. “He’s going to need something to wear once he wakes up.”

“Something more than that collar?” he hedged, looking innocently up at him through his lashes.

Silva looked down at him in disappointment. That look was patently inherited from Kikyo. “Just go tell him, Kalluto,” he ordered, unwilling to hash this out again with his own flesh and blood. “We’re going to have a talk about this sort of behavior once Stray and I finish up our business.”

The boy raised his hands up, unable to completely hide the smile on his face. A kitten meowed at Silva’s foot, further ruining any air of respect he might have commanded. Even in his own home he was outnumbered.

“Yes, sir,” he chimed, gathering up his kittens to go do as he was told.

Silva watched him wander off down towards the kitchen, hoping that Kalluto had the foresight not to bring the animals inside with him. Gotoh was a fairly level headed butler, but infringe upon the sanctity of his kitchen and not even an adorable kitten would be enough to save the boy from being scolded.

With that settled though, he made for the cave’s entrance, traversing the stairs with a barely restrained yawn. The cave was cool and just a little drafty, prickling the damp hair still coiled around his neck. The monitor rose up above him like a long lost friend and Silva sat down in the leather chair, booting up the computer to begin his usual morning maintenance checks.

The police reports came streaming in from the night before and Silva shuffled through them, reading them off and organizing any that seemed to indicate relation to ongoing crime operations he’d been monitoring. For once, nothing gregarious seemed to have occurred in the time he’d been occupied with Chrollo, a blessing given the karma he was used to having. A minor robbery with no casualties ranked at the top of the list, and Silva took the win.

Once they were all filed away and the hard drive backed up to one of the many encoded externals, he moved his attention towards the Falcone files.

The location of Falcone’s private residence was one of public record. Anyone who had lived in the city for any length of time knew where the mobster lived, because no one was idiotic enough to try and storm the place. Silva looked at the schematics of the house itself, taking in the double gates that he knew to be guarded at all hours by watchmen. The grounds were encircled by a tall fence, dogs patrolling where men didn’t.

He rested his chin in his hand as he read, pinpointing the best place to enter. If it were him alone going, he would simply track the movements of an entering vehicle and then go undercover, sneaking a ride inside. With Chrollo to account for as well though, their assault would have to be joint. Silva didn’t trust him enough to get inside alone, and he wouldn’t want to invite the potential of Chrollo being caught alone in a firefight should one break out. He didn’t wear armor like he did.

That led him to the thought of the men they would encounter. How many did Falcone keep around his residence? Would he be expecting an attack? Silva brought up the files he had on the don’s operations in town, taking stock of the resources he commanded. If he could predict the number of men he might have at his disposal, it would at least give him a rough estimate to plan for should something happen.

A tiny meow broke him from his thoughts, the last sound he ever expected to hear down here.

Silva looked down at the small creature, sighing as it ignored him, its tiny claws tugging at his pants leg with the intent of climbing it should he not intervene. “How did you get down here?” he asked the kitten, Licorice if he recalled correctly. When the kitten didn’t answer him, he scooped it up and put it in his lap. There were too many things that could harm it should he lose sight of the creature, so choices were limited if he didn’t take it upstairs.

Bright blue eyes stared up at him curiously, tiny black ears flicking cutely. It made a tiny meow, its claws kneading into his shirt. Silva broke down and carefully stroked down its back, scratching under its chin while he finished reading the report.

“You know, this would completely ruin your image if anyone saw you like this,” a cool, smooth voice laughed in his ear, warm arms wrapping around him from behind the chair.

Silva looked up, only mildly curious how he kept getting sneaked up on in his own cave. “So I see you’re finally awake,” he observed, pleasantly surprised when Chrollo leaned down for a kiss. “Did you find something to wear?”

The thief came around the chair, lifting the small kitten into his hands to take up occupancy in his lap himself. “Gotoh brought me more of your kid’s stuff, and he did this,” he said, holding up his injured hand. It had been bandaged up and splinted, but seemed to be giving him little more trouble. “He’s a nice guy. He sent me to tell you dinner’s almost ready.”

“He’s very good at what he does,” Silva said simply, watching the kitten curl up on Chrollo’s stomach for a nap. It looked much more relaxed in his arms than it had in his own. Dark eyes turned to take in the file open on the monitor screen. Chrollo at least looked at home in his lap.

“What are you doing?” he asked, rolling so his head rested on Silva’s shoulder, his fingers playing with the buttons on his chest. “These don’t look like Falcone files.”

He couldn’t tell what the angle was for the sudden affection, but he savored it while it lasted. His cheek nuzzled soft black hair, the kitten looking up at him with a quiet meow that the thief answered with gentle pets. “These are for his operations in the city. I’m seeing how many people are occupied elsewhere, to gain a more accurate estimate on how many might be stationed around his mansion.”

“Smart,” Chrollo gave, tilting his head up to kiss his cheek sweetly. Why was he acting so sweet?

Silva pulled away a bit, taking in the thief fully. “What are you hiding?” he probed, narrowing his eyes. “You’re only like this when you’re planning something.”

Chrollo had the audacity to look offended. “You’d think you’d be happier that I’m being nice to you,” he huffed, wrapping his arms around the kitten in a bid to look innocent and harmless. “You’re going to hurt my feelings, Silva.”

He wasn’t buying it and he knew Chrollo knew it. Wrapping his hand around the slender thigh, he held him in place so he couldn’t run should he try to abandon whatever plot he’d cooked up. “I think I’ve seen enough of you to know when you’re being sincere and when you’re readying yourself to handcuff me to a fire escape,” he insisted, stroking his thumb along the muscle.

The thief avoided his eyes, staring resolutely at the kitten in his lap.

“You’re going to have to tell me at some point,” Silva reasoned, looping his fingers through the collar to tug Chrollo’s eyes up to meet his own. “I’m going to a lot of trouble helping you with this. Falcone has gone to war with people over less.”

“If you’re trying to guilt me, it’s not going to work,” Chrollo told him, glaring. He jerked himself free from the grip on his collar, glaring even harder at the gesture. “I might be inclined to tell you if you take this thing off me.”

Silva raised a brow and leaned back against his seat, absent-mindedly stroking along the thief’s thigh. He probably should, now that he was thinking about it. As much as he loved having a tangible claim visible on Chrollo’s body, if they were going to storm Falcone’s place, it could be detrimental to Chrollo’s image to be seen with his symbol around his neck.

It would be practical, and he would do it, but he would be an idiot not to get what he wanted out of the thief before he acquiesced.

Tugging at the charm hanging from the band, Silva smiled at the frustrated cat. “But it looks so nice on you,” he reasoned, dipping lower to skim a pierced ear with his lips. “You’d have to give me something just as nice in return if you want me to take it off.”

“I haven’t robbed you or clawed out your eyes, and I think that’s more than fair payment given all I’ve had to go through because of you,” Chrollo hissed, shoving his face away with his hand. The kitten mewled pitifully, disliking the shifting and loud voices. “Just take it off, Silva,” he said quieter, his eyes hard. “You’ve had your fun with it. I don’t want it around my neck anymore.”

When he said it like that, Silva almost felt guilty. He stared at him for a moment, fondling the leather and charm, his knuckles grazing the soft skin below. “How about this,” he began, looking up to meet dark eyes. “I take off the charm, but you keep the band.”

Chrollo opened his mouth to vehemently disagree, but Silva just leaned forward, kissing him so he couldn’t speak. He went on once he pulled away, certain he had his attention.

“I don’t want to lose sight of you tonight,” he murmured, moving his ministrations to the thief’s cheek, and then down his neck. How could anyone be so soft? “It’s a precaution. Once we finish, I’ll take off the band as well.”

He could hear the thoughts turning over slowly in Chrollo’s mind, a single hand coming up to tangle in his hair. “You just want me in this as long as you can get,” he told him, a pouty frown on his lips.

Silva raised a brow and kissed him again, loving the taste of him. “Guilty as charged, but there is a practical reason for it.” Running his hand along the thigh in his hand, he stared pointedly at the injured hand stroking the kitten’s back. “If something happens to you, I need to be able to find you.”

“What if something happens to you?” he shot back. “What if you’re shot or kidnapped, then what do I do? It’s a two-way street, Silva. Take it off or wear one yourself.”

That wasn’t going to happen. Silva sighed. “Is it really that bad to wear it?” he muttered, staring down at the kitten nuzzling Chrollo’s fingertips. “I like it on you.”

“Take it off and maybe I’ll put on a non-stalking one when we fuck,” came the last offer, and Silva knew he had reached the end of his rope. He eased Chrollo off his lap and walked over to the equipment table, grabbing the magnetic lock from the workbench.

The leather looked like any other collar found in a pet store, but the fasteners were attached through a series of special magnets to keep it from being removed. Chrollo bared his throat for him, his eyes watching his every move when he placed the device near the buckle, killing the magnetic hold with a pulse of the tool.

Tossing it onto the monitor table, he unfastened the collar himself. “I’m going to miss this,” he murmured, taking it off of Chrollo’s slender neck and holding it in his hand.

Chrollo rubbed at the bared skin, as if reacquainting himself with feeling of his throat unobstructed. “If you want to own me, Silva,” he began, taking the collar from him to throw it beside the device, “you could start by letting me come to you on my own.”

“What if you run away?” he asked, picking him up easily to sit back down with him in his lap.

Soft lips found his ear, lapping and kissing while the kitten slept in his arms. “Then you wait for me to come home,” he murmured.

Silva wondered if he’d ever have the patience to wait that long. He hoped he’d never have to find out.

“Umm,” a small voice went, making them spring apart as if they’d been shocked. “Are you guys coming up for dinner?”

“Kalluto,” Silva said, slowly pushing Chrollo off his lap to try and mitigate the situation. “We were just coming upstairs.” Who was he kidding? This was Kalluto. He knew exactly what he’d walked in on, and he knew well enough to how make Silva suffer for it.

The boy crossed his arms and raised a brow, Chrollo laughing into his hand like this didn’t involve him. “One got away,” the thief offered, handing Kalluto the small black kitten still curled up against his chest. “You should keep an eye on them when they’re this young and not let them wander. They’re a bit too small yet to keep themselves out of trouble.”

“Oh no, I’ll keep a better watch over them!” he promised, and Silva took the opening he had to escape, shooing them all towards the stairs so he could leave the phantom of the intimacy behind. “There are so many of them that it’s easy to lose one in all the fluff.”

Speaking of fluff and kittens, “You should go wash up,” Silva told him, eyeing the cat once they reached the top of the stairs. “You know how Gotoh gets about playing with the cats and then eating.”

Chrollo took Kalluto by the hand, smiling up at Silva. “Here, I’ll come with you so I can wash up too,” he told him, letting the boy guide him down the hall to the water closet. “You’re dad looks like he needs some time to cool down before he eats.”

That was insulting and true in equal measure, and it stung worse for the both of them. Silva sighed and rubbed tiredly at his eyes, walking towards the dining room. The scent of roasted meat and seasonings called him forward, his mouth already watering. When Chrollo had asked for meat, he made sure to give it to him.

“Ah, Master Silva,” Gotoh greeted, already in the middle of carving the roast at the table. “Good to see you. It’s been a few days, hasn’t it?”

Silva sidled into his normal seat, reaching for the wine already poured in his glass. “It certainly has been,” he said wearily, drinking the alcohol in hopes of the fruit washing away the taste of Chrollo that always seemed to linger on his lips after they kissed.

Gotoh knew him too well to comment on his mood, instead moving to refill his glass just as the others streamed in. Kalluto held Chrollo’s hand, tugging him around excitedly while he rambled on about something the kittens had done the other day. Chrollo listened intently, a gentle smile on his face as the boy led him to the table and insisted he sit beside him.

He quirked a smile when Chrollo caught sight of the meal, his eyes going wide. “Did you think I forgot?” he asked, loving the ghost of a blush that tinged his pale cheeks. With a gesture of his hand, Gotoh began to serve them, putting an especially large piece of roast beef on Chrollo’s plate with a knowing look.

“This looks amazing,” he breathed, waiting to begin until the rest of them were served. He looked a bit out of his element, unsure of how to proceed. Given what he usually ate, Silva couldn’t blame him for feeling a bit out of his depth.

Kalluto broke the silence, popping a bite of roasted potato in his mouth and chewing happily, nudging Chrollo with his shoulder. “It’s really good, so you should eat as much as you want,” he supplied helpfully, so excited to have him there and eating dinner with him.

Chrollo nodded, taking his knife and fork in hand to cut off a sliver of his meat. Silva watched him brighten, his eyes closing in pleasure as he chewed. It made him want to spoil him rotten, giving him every delicacy known to man so he’d be able to see that expression again and again.

He quickly took a bite himself to keep them from looking at him, quelling the thoughts for the moment.

“So,” Kalluto piped up, looking between the two of them with that trouble-making look on his face. “What are you two doing tonight?”

They shared a look, Chrollo shaking his head subtly as if to say he wasn’t touching this with a ten foot pole. Silva cleared his throat, thrown to the wolves and left to fend for himself. What an ingrate.

“We’re going to get Stray out of trouble,” he said simply enough, savoring the glare Chrollo threw him. “He’s got the Falcone’s after him, so we’re going to get them to call off the hit.”

Kalluto looked up at Chrollo, taking him in. “You can’t do that by yourself?” he asked, his brow furrowed as he chewed on a bite of carrot. “You seem like a pretty capable person.”

The look Chrollo shot him was viciously victorious. “Oh, you think?” he encourage, giving the child a pat on the head for taking his side. “I think so too, but you know your dad. He likes to worry and stick his nose into things.”

If Kalluto said yes, Silva would give up completely and surrender to the inevitability of being overrun in his own home.

“He does,” and Silva buried his face in his hand, “but he usually does it for a good reason.” Peeking up, he looked at his youngest fondly, proud of him for not switching sides just yet.

“Fortunately for you,” Silva cut in, steering the conversation away from him while he still had the high ground, “this shouldn’t take long to sort out. You’ll have my nose out of your business soon enough.”

The smile that took root on the thief’s face made the bottom fall out of his stomach. “Oh, that’s too bad,” Chrollo crooned, licking his spoon innocently. “I was just about to get used to having it there. It’s sometimes helpful. You know, once in a blue moon.”

Silva couldn’t look away from that small, pink tongue. He swallowed and sipped his wine until Gotoh was at his side with the bottle again, filling it to the brim.

“Are you guys flirting?” Kalluto piped up, destroying the mood with a nuclear missile. The boy wrinkled his nose, looking at them both like a kid who had just walked in on his parents kissing. “I get that you’re dating but this is the dinner table.”

Chrollo, to his infinite credit, didn’t even flinch, whereas Silva tried not to visibly choke on his wine.  “Oh, kitten, we’re just teasing each other. I don’t think your dad has it in him to take me on a proper date.” He shot a pointed look at Silva, telling him exactly what he thought of Silva’s attempts at being romantic.

Kalluto frowned a little. “Oh,” he said, poking morosely at his potatoes. “That’s too bad. I like having you here.”

If he planned on invoking guilt, he was succeeding. The two of them shared a look, and Silva took it upon himself to guide the mood back to what it had been before.

“Don’t forget, Kalluto. Stray is a thief. If he wants to come here, it’d be more than I could do to stop him,” he said, giving a meaningful look to Chrollo. “I think he’s just waiting for me to lower my guard before he moves in here permanently.”

“That or steal your things,” the thief chuckled, petting through Kalluto’s hair. “And you know what I’d start with first?”

The boy thought about it for a moment. “The paintings?” he guessed. “They’re pretty expensive.”

Chrollo laughed, shaking his head. “I’d start with you and the other kittens, kitten,” he teased. “Without all of you, your dad would be completely helpless to my criminal wiles.” He wrapped an arm around the kid’s shoulders, pulling him into a hug. “Then you and I could take over the entire town.”

“That certainly would be awful,” Silva smiled, watching Kalluto sneak a bite of roast between Chrollo’s arms as they plotted. “What on earth would I do against two of you?” Watching them eat and laugh together, Silva couldn’t help but relax.

It was good to have Kalluto laughing, even if it were at his expense.


	9. Chapter 9

Chrollo was silent for all of five minutes before he began to be a problem.

“I want you to follow my lead,” Chrollo said, cutting through the thrum of the engine and the mental check list Silva was busy making as he drove. “This is my operation and I don’t want you getting in my way.”

“That’s unacceptable and idiotic,” Silva shot down immediately, not missing a beat. “I have a plan and I’m going to be the one calling the shots. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Chrollo glared at him, his arms crossed petulantly. “This is what I do for a living, Silva. I infiltrate buildings and avoid security. I’m good at it. I call the shots.”

Silva snorted, something he never thought he’d do while wearing the cowl. “You work alone normally, in buildings with scant security and no armed guards. None of that applies now,” he explained, cutting the wheel and turning them towards the long drive that led up to the Falcone mansion. “I agreed to let you deal with Falcone yourself, but up until the moment we’re alone with him, we are following my orders.”

He looked at the sulking thief the way he’d look at Robin being bratty. “Do you understand me?”

It worked about as well as it ever did on the kid. Chrollo turned away after a moment of seething, glaring out the window. “Fine,” he muttered. “Slow me down with your lumbering, then.”

“Slowing down might be good for you, this way you won’t charge ahead and get yourself kidnapped—”

“Don’t you dare victim blame,” Chrollo hissed, looking ready to claw him to pieces, moving car be damned. “He only grabbed me because he saw your damned symbol around my neck.”

“He was hired to kill you, Chrollo,” Silva sighed, but he could tell that the thief wasn’t having it.

“He wasn’t interested in any of it until he thought he could drag you into things and get a fight going.”

Silva looked over at him. “How on earth could you know that?”

Chrollo stared down at his injured hand, cradling it in his lap. “He told me,” he said quietly. “You know him better than I do. He likes to talk.”

That was certainly true. And dragging Silva out for a fight sounded exactly like Hisoka. A flicker of guilt took root in his stomach. The mansion rose up before them and Silva clamped down on the feeling, locking it away for later. They didn’t have time for this conversation right now. It was time to work.

“We’ll discuss this later,” he said decisively, parking the car far enough from the front gate that it wouldn’t be seen from the road. Unbuckling the seatbelt, he opened his door and waited for Chrollo to do the same.

“What’s the entry plan?” the thief asked as soon as he was out, something cool taking up residence on his face. Perhaps he realized too that this was the time for results, not arguing. Given his injury, he should be taking this seriously. A lot of his normal tricks probably wouldn’t work for him now that he was down to what amounted to a single hand.

He had that in mind the entire time he planned their assault.

Opening the miniature computer built into his gauntlet, Silva came to the thief’s side to show him the digital layout of the mansion. “Our first objective is to make it to the front gate without being spotted. My resources say that there are motion sensors that begin to pop up the closer one gets to the gate.”

Chrollo peered over his arm at the map, his cheek resting against his shoulder as he memorized the schematics. “Do we know where the sensors are?” he asked, leaning in to make the image larger at the south corner of the premises.

Another push of a button and the sensors speckled the projection like dots.

“Here,” Chrollo said a second later, pointing with a claw. “Motion sensors can be tricked by avoiding ground movement, since they only have a horizontal range, not vertical. If we travel this path, we can avoid them and use the tree line to jump the gate.”

Silva stared down at him with something like pride, giving in to the urge to kiss him. What a clever cat, he thought, pulling away before things got out of hand.

Clawed fingers covered pale pink lips, Chrollo staring up at him with something like annoyance. “That wasn’t very professional, Batman,” he pointed out, his breathing a tad too fast to be unaffected.

“But you really are,” he gave back, tugging him towards the trees to begin the assault.

“This is what I do,” he muttered, taking to the trees with ease, climbing the tallest oak. “If you sound that impressed at such a simple thing, I might get offended.”

He laughed a little, something else he never thought he’d do in costume, and followed him up the tree, playing catch up to the shadow he could now barely see between the branches of a far maple. They moved silently through the woods until the gate came into view, following the tree line until the two overlapped and allowed them to jump over without a single guard the wiser.

A clawed hand touched his arm, Chrollo waiting for the next course of action.

Pointing a single finger up, Silva took out a grapple to shoot a line to the façade of the building. Every door and window held a sensor that would set off an alarm should they force their way in, but there were other creative ways to get inside. Silva climbed silently up the building, throwing the line back down so the thief could join him on the eave.

But Chrollo didn’t settle in beside him. Instead, he went to the nearest window, pulling from a pouch at his side a small leather case.

“What are you doing?” Silva whispered, coming up beside him to grab his wrist before he touched the window. “Those have alarms.”

Chrollo looked up at him, eyebrow quirked and expression unimpressed. “So what?” he whispered back, dropping the case and catching it smoothly with his free hand. “This is what I _do,_ B. If you’ve got a better idea, you’re free to do it, but I don’t fancy going down the chimney like Santa.”

Silva dropped the hand, unwilling to tell him that that was exactly the plan he had concocted.

“That’s what I thought,” Chrollo muttered, opening the case to pull out his tools. “Alarms don’t mean anything if you don’t set them off.”

Curious, frustrated, and entirely impressed, Silva settled down beside him to watch him tease open the window’s lock and then wedge in a mirrored index card. “What do you intend to do?” he murmured, glancing behind them to make sure none of the guards on the ground were thinking to look up.

Blowing his bangs from his eyes, Chrollo reached for a thin pair of forceps, the prongs especially long. “You can tell the make of the senor by the sound,” he answered, indicating the subtle, barely perceptible hum that Silva only just now noticed. “This one is a beam of light, like a laser pointer. It works by bouncing the laser between two points, and if it’s interrupted, the alarm goes off.”

While he spoke, he wedged in another index card, the surface coated in some sort of mirrored film. “The aim is to turn the mirrors at the same time, bouncing the light back into the sensor and thus allowing the window to be opened and the light beam to stay unbroken.” A bead of sweat betrayed his calm, his concentration evident. “I need you to give me some space, B.”

This was a risk they didn’t have to take, but Silva was beginning to see just how capable his thief was. He backed away a few inches and kept watch instead, prepared to run if this didn’t work.

Chrollo took the forceps in either hand, inserting them below the edge of the window to snag the ends of the cards already in position. Letting out a breath and taking another, he twisted his wrists, wedging the bend ends of the cards into the cracks in the wall.

Silva held his breath, waiting for a siren to sound.

The night stayed silent, unbroken.

“Man, that’s always such a thrill to do right,” Chrollo laughed under his breath, check that the cards were in place before dropping the forceps and opening the window without issue. It opened into what Silva knew to be a library, dark and abandoned at this time of night. Chrollo slipped inside, ripping the alarm away so it wouldn’t be accidently set off by an errant breeze.

“Where did you learn all of this?” Silva couldn’t help but ask, climbing through the window and closing it behind him.

Chrollo was poking around the books, pulling them off the shelves to flip through the pages. “Here and there,” he gave quietly, his eyes widening when he found a book in particular that he liked. “Could I maybe—”

Silva took the book from his hand, putting it back on the shelf where he had found it. “We’re not here to steal,” he said, sounding like a parent. “And that wasn’t an answer.”

“You really know how to suck the fun out of everything,” Chrollo groused, ignoring him to go towards the door. “What room is Falcone in?” He stopped a second later, glaring down at the hand fixed to his wrist.

“It’s a simple question,” Silva told him, unwilling to move on until he knew. No one would come by the library at this hour. They could wait for as long as it took.

“You’re really doing this now?”

Silva waited and Chrollo sighed, turning back towards him.

“Practice, alright?” he bit, tugging pointlessly at his trapped wrist. “I was raised on the streets and I worked my way up to what I am now. It’s not hard to research makes and models, and the more you do it, the more you learn. Satisfied?’

He wasn’t, he never would be, but he let him go regardless.

“Falcone will be in his bedroom this late at night,” he murmured, pushing Chrollo to the side so he could be the one to open the door into the hallway.

“Does he have a wife?”

Silva thought for a moment, recalling the files. “He does, but she’s vacationing in Paris right now,” he recalled.

“Mistresses?”

“Many, but none that he’d let stay over. He’s notoriously withholding.

Chrollo frowned loud enough to hear. “Sounds like you could learn something from him,” he muttered, pushing at his back until he finally left the room.

He decided to ignore that and stalk through the hall, listening intently for the sound of any other life that might be awake. Chrollo was a silent shadow at his side, hovering half a step behind him to let him make the call before they turned each corner. Perhaps he’d finally fallen in with the chain of command made clear in the car.

Silva put his ear against the bedroom door when they finally came upon it, hearing nothing at all inside. Chrollo tried to reach for the knob but he batted his hand away, turning on the thermal sensor built into his cowl. “Be patient,” he mouthed to the thief, ignoring his frown.

The walls were a bit too thick to get a good read, but he could make out a singular mass of heat located near the middle of the room. Dull orange with a brighter head, the figure appeared to be laying down. He thumbed off the scanner, giving Chrollo a single nod. The target was inside and none the wiser.

As much as he hated it, he put his hand on the door knob and entered the room that way.

He wasn’t prepared for Chrollo to shove past him, making for the bed with singular intent.

There was no time to say anything, if they were even in a position to talk at all, given the sleeping don boss ten feet away. Silva tried to grab his arm, but Chrollo moved like the night itself, silent and quick until he loomed over Falcone. For one heart-stopping moment, Silva wondered if Chrollo had come here to kill the man.

The thought didn’t change when Chrollo threw caution to the wind, climbing up into the luxurious bed to straddle the man holding the threat to his life in his hands.

It didn’t matter now if they spoke, because Falcone was already stirring. “What are you doing?” Silva hissed, unsure of where to stand, by the bed to keep Chrollo safe or by the door to counter any men who might come charging in.

Chrollo ignored him, his attention solely for the man between his thighs.

“Mariette?” Falcone mumbled, reaching for the light beside his bed. He flicked it on, startling horribly when instead of his absent wife, he found a grinning, beautiful thief. “Who are you?!” he shouted, reaching out again for a panic button. He cried out a second later, Chrollo’s claws gouging his hand when he forced it back to the pillow.

“Don’t you recognize me?” Chrollo crooned sweetly, and Silva swallowed, knowing exactly what the thief intended to do to get his way. “I’m the one you’ve got all of Gotham hunting for.”

Even from across the room, Silva could see how the man’s face paled, his teeth bared like an animal cornered. The other hand slowly came up to rest on the pillow as well, Falcone having enough sense to know when he shouldn’t try to press his luck. “What is this?” he asked carefully, his eyes flicking over to rest on Silva lurking near the door. “Since when does the Bat involve himself with thieves?”

Chrollo took him by the chin, bringing his attention back to him and him alone. “Since this thief charmed the Bat enough to hop willingly into his pocket,” he whispered sweetly, digging his claws into Falcone’s cheek a bit to savor the way he flinched. “Just think about it, Falcone. Not even Gotham’s trusted hero will help you now. What a mess you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Silva grimaced but hid it in a scowl, keeping his mouth shut to let Chrollo do it himself. If Silva did it for him, Chrollo would lose all respect on the streets. He knew it, but he didn’t like it.

“What do you want then?” Falcone grit, looking furious as Chrollo made himself comfortable on his chest. “Money? My head? Revenge for the trouble I’ve caused you?”

Humming thoughtfully, Chrollo just smiled. “What do I want?” he pondered, being as infuriating as he knew how to be. “I want a lot of things Falcone, greediness is in my nature. I wanted your lover’s diamonds, so I took them. I wanted the Bat, so I took him. Are you sensing a theme here?”

A bead of sweat rolled down the man’s temple.

“But I’ve come upon a bit of a problem lately,” he went on, pouting beautifully, in a way that made Silva want to do anything he could to make him happy again. He could only imagine what it did to Falcone, a man with no experience telling him no.

“What problem?” he asked, as if reading from Chrollo’s own script.

Dark eyes stared at the old man, his hand cupping the bearded chin. “You took something from me that I want back, and try as I might, I can’t seem to take it from you myself,” he explained, playing with the zipper low on his chest. “I want my freedom back, so I need you to remove the bounty you placed on my head.”

Falcone’s eyes narrowed, looking past him to glare up at the ceiling. “You did this to yourself,” he told him. “You disrespected me when you stole what was mine.”

Chrollo laughed, low and lovely in the dark. “What I stole from you were diamonds not even worth the silver mounts, and you know it,” he gave back, bringing his clawed grip to encircle the man’s throat. “You must not like your mistress very much, to give her such cheap rocks.”

He wasn’t being choked, not yet at least, but Falcone looked decidedly strained. “How dare you,” he hissed, but the words were cut off when Chrollo began to apply pressure.

“This is how this is going to work, Falcone,” Chrollo said smoothly, all fun and levity lost now. “You’re going to call off the hit. You’re going to tell every person you sent my picture to forget they ever saw it. If I ever hear that you’ve so much as turned your eyes in my direction, and trust me, I will know, I’m going to break in here again. And no matter how many guards you have, no matter how many guns you gather, nothing will be able to protect you from me ripping your throat out with my hands.”

Silva nearly jumped when Chrollo turned his eyes towards him, a smile on his face that he’d never seen before.

“You see how he’s just standing there, watching?” Chrollo asked the trapped, fear-filled man, looking back down at his captive. “Not even he would stop me.”

He didn’t know about that, but he wasn’t going to disagree when the plan was obviously working.

Falcone visibly swallowed, more sweat dotting his brow. “How will you know if I’ve done it?” he managed to ask, sounding shaken but still resolute to hold onto his image. “What’s to stop me from calling the guards and leading a manhunt on the both of you the second you leave my room?”

Chrollo smiled charmingly, his grip going tight. While Falcone choked and gasped, he put his lips by the man’s ear, his voice turning deadly. “Then we kill you all, until your entire organization crumbles around you. You’ll be forced to watch me set fire to everything you’ve built, all because you wanted to test my resolve.”

With a flick of his fingers, Chrollo slipped a print out from his sleeve, putting it in front of the man’s eyes. “You wouldn’t want the only thing to survive the flames to be this, would you?” he asked gently, smiling at the photo of Falcone with his daughter, an illegitimate girl of about ten who had been hidden away from the public eye for her own safety. “I can only imagine what your enemies might do to make sure the Falcone name ends with you.”

Silva didn’t need to be Falcone to know the man was going to accept the terms of surrender. He turned away and flicked on the thermal scanner again, checking the hallway through the door. On a whim, he glanced at the ground. His eyes went wide, his heart stuttering.

“Stray,” he called out, getting Chrollo’s attention. “Incoming.”

“Oh, you hear that?” he asked, squeezing a little harder. “I’m gonna need your answer now, else I’ll just cut out the middle man and kill you now. And I’d really rather not ruin these beautiful sheets, so answer intelligently.”

For a moment, Silva really wondered what Chrollo would do if the man answered wrong. He wouldn’t really kill him, would he? Thankfully, it didn’t look like he’d have to find out. Falcone went red and nodded frantically, his hands going to Chrollo’s wrist to tug him away from his throat.

“Fine, fine,” he coughed, voice a haggard whisper. “I’ll call it off.”

“Smart man,” Chrollo praised, kissing his cheek quickly before slipping off the bed. “Tell your mistress she’s better off with emeralds. I hate those.” Before he pulled away though, he brought out a familiar pair of handcuffs, cuffing the mob boss to the headboard of his own bed. “Remember what we talked about, and I won’t come to hate you too.”

Subtly, he checked his belt, finding the cuffs gone. When had he taken them? Silva opened the door pointedly, grabbing Chrollo by the wrist the moment he came within reach. “Come on,” he murmured, not sparing Falcone another look.

Chrollo looked as happy as a clam trying to tug Silva down the hall back to the library. “Can we get some food after this?” he whispered, looking up at Silva when he didn’t begin moving. “What’s wrong?”

“Would you have really killed him if he didn’t agree to your terms?” It needed to be asked. He needed to know what kind of man Chrollo was.

“Is this really the time to be discussing that?” he asked, looking annoyed.

Silva held on tighter, ignoring the sound of incoming guards. “Just answer the question, Stray.”

The thief narrowed his eyes and sighed, staring up at him as if he couldn’t believe he’d do this now. “If he threatened me and my freedom, I would have,” he told him, saying it like it was just the way he did things. “Don’t tell me you’re going to give me a morality lesson, Mr. I-Kidnap-Those-I-Can’t-Control.”

There was no time to reply, as the guards chose that moment to turn the corner and see them.

Gunfire erupted instantly and Silva let instinct take over, furling his cape to hide his center mass as he grabbed Chrollo around the middle and sprinted for the nearest window. “Cover your head!” he shouted, not waiting to check that Chrollo had listened before he dove through the glass, taking them out onto the roof.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again!” Chrollo shouted over the gunshots still chasing them, ripping himself from Silva’s hold to run towards the part of the building that lay closest to the tree line. Below, dogs barked and flashlight beams searched, narrowly missing them as they ran.

Silva didn’t bother answering him, reaching for the grapple gun to shoot a line into the trees. “Get over here,” he ordered, resorting to the brisk commands he used with Robin in the field. He waited until the line locked around a sturdy branch before clamping the other end into the bricks and mortar of the building. “We’re going to zipline down.”

Chrollo stared up at him, far too calm given the situation but far too angry to be accepting of the orders. “Are you insane?” he said through clenched teeth. “It’ll be like shooting birds off a power line if we do that.”

“Do you have a better idea to avoid the dogs on the ground?” he asked, grabbing Chrollo’s hands for him to put them on the grapple’s build in roller.

Dark eyes glared at him but he shook his head, huffing out a breath before looking at the dangerous path ahead. “What are you going to use?” he asked quickly, making for the edge of the roof before the flashlights found them. “You don’t have another of these in that belt, do you?”

“I’ll be fine,” Silva insisted, taking him by the hips to push him off as quickly as possible. Chrollo stifled the cry and held on as tight as he could, curling up to hide the shape of his body as he traveled right over the gate and into the woods beyond. For a moment, he worried about the strength of his hand holding out. He waited until he saw him drop safely to the ground before eyeing the line himself.

He didn’t have another roller, and he knew how difficult it would be to hold on with just his hands. With a batarang, he cut a strip from his cape and looped it around the line, coiling the ends around his wrists to bind him to the Kevlar fabric. Dogs howled and the lights barely kissed the end of his cape before he threw himself from the roof, curling up as best he could to avoid the gunfire that shot past him.

A burning pain buried itself in his thigh, and then into his shoulder, and it was only thanks to the fabric that he didn’t drop out of the sky and fall into the gaping, frothing jaws below. The burning didn’t dissipate, and he realized then that the bullets had penetrated his armor, finding the thin joints where the Kevlar was thinnest to hit. Silva grit his teeth and will himself to move fast, falling over the gate and crashing messily to the tree he’d shot the line into.

Chrollo was already waiting in the branches, shouting down at him to hurry, but the words sounded fuzzy, like they were being screamed through an ocean of water.

Adrenaline rushed his veins, giving him the strength to will away the pain and free himself from the knots around his wrists. “Get going,” he called up to Chrollo, climbing the tree as fast as he could, given the state of his shoulder. “Get to the car.”

“B, you’re bleed—”

“Move!” he ordered, finally reaching the high branch with the help of Chrollo tugging at his hand. He made sure the thief went first, cutting through the trees the way they had come, keeping them untrackable with the floodlights lying dormant below. The dogs barked and howled but the guards still thought them behind the gate.

Blood streamed down his armor, some trickling inside to pool inside his boot. He ignored the pain growing more and more present the longer he lingered, stumbling down the last tree to crumble outside of the batmobile.

“Silva, I need the keys,” Chrollo insisted, shaking him by the shoulder to keep him awake. When that failed, he turned to slapping.

“Belt,” he grunted, the world spinning, his fingertips growing cold with blood loss. “Don’t—”

“I know, I know, don’t forget to disarm it, I’m aware,” Chrollo interrupted, doing just that to yank free the keys and open the car doors. “I need your help now, Silva. I can’t carry you, so I need you to help me get you in the car.”

It was difficult, but he did his best to lift himself up. Chrollo dove beneath his arm the moment he could, doing his best to drag him to the passenger side door. “Is there an autopilot?” he asked hurriedly, the sound of dogs and men shouting growing louder, signaling they had finally begun their search outside the gate. They sounded distant to Silva, nearly buried beneath the water rushing past his ears in crashing, falling waves.

“Just drive it to the manor,” he managed, falling into the seat hard enough to jostle his wounds painfully. “It’s just a car with added features.”

Chrollo grabbed him by the chin, forcing his eyes forward. “Silva, I don’t know how to drive, if you want to have a car after this, I suggest you turn on the autopilot.”

What kind of twenty-six year old couldn’t drive? Silva fumbled with the dashboard, flipping a switch to bring up the onboard A.I. “Get in,” he grit, and Chrollo raced to the driver’s seat, watching with wide eyes and blood-smeared hands as Silva keyed in the code to take them to the manor. “Don’t touch anything, just sit and…just sit…”

“Silva? Silva, you have to stay with me!” Chrollo told him through a roaring wave, the car thrumming to life and taking off down the drive, just as bullets began to ping off the back bumper.

He sounded so scared, was that an act as well? Silva couldn’t keep his eyes open. Darkness blocked his sight and the water rushed in, its cold embrace holding him too tightly to refuse.


	10. Chapter 10

Consciousness greeted him in bursts, sporadic and marked by the sensation of soft fur and a wet, scratchy tongue against his cheek.

Fur as black as night filled his vision the moment he gathered the willpower to open his eyes, tiny blue ones staring straight back. “Licorice?” he murmured, trying to clear the fog from his head enough to think.

“Can’t say that’s the proper kind of food for someone recovering from massive blood loss, but if you’re good I just might sneak you some,” a deceptively chipper voice replied, and Silva broke away from his staring contest with the kitten to look at the thief seated in a chair beside his bed.

“Chrollo,” Silva sighed, closing his eyes. Cool fingers fell to his forehead, taking his temperature. “How’s my car?”

The fingers flicked him between the eyes and Silva winced.

“How’s your fucking car?” he bit, tugging on his hair until Silva looked at him. “You nearly died.”

“I was only shot twice, Chrollo. Don’t exaggerate.” He’d taken far worse before and walked away from it. This was nothing. “Why is there a cat in here?”

Chrollo sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling the kitten away from where it had been making a nest in his hair. “Kalluto thought you might get better faster if you had some company,” he muttered, giving the kitten all of his attention while he sulked.

He sat close, but far enough away that he had to stretch to snag Chrollo’s wrist to pull him closer. “And you weren’t company enough?” he asked, moving the thief easily until he laid down beside him. The bandages were thick around his bicep, but Chrollo still curled into his side the moment he gave him the room to do so, the pain be damned.

The small kitten mewled, doing its best to climb free of Chrollo’s hands and reclaim dominion over Silva’s form. “I’m just the unlucky person without other engagements who was told to babysit you,” Chrollo gave, resting his head over Silva’s heart. “Apparently you’re liable to wander off if someone doesn’t strap you down.”

It would be insulting if there weren’t empirical evidence backing that claim up. Silva sighed and kissed Chrollo’s soft black hair, contenting himself with at least having this. As far as distractions went, he could do far worse.

“Don’t listen to them,” he chuckled, running a hand down the slender arm thrown over his stomach. “I’m more than capable of knowing when I’m too injured to move.” Someone had found Chrollo more civilian clothing. His eyes narrowed a bit, taking in the fit. They weren’t Illumi’s, else they’d look far baggier. “Did someone buy you new clothes?”

A look of surprise passed over his face, replaced quickly with understanding. “Oh, no,” he said, looking down and touching the front of his tank top. “These are mine. I had a lot of time to kill waiting for you to wake up, so I went to my place and grabbed some stuff.”

It took a moment to realize why that sounded like such a bad idea.

“What do you mean, you went back?” Silva demanded, shifting and wincing until he had forced himself into a sitting position. “They know where you live, you can’t just—”

Soft fingertips covered his lips, cutting him off mid-thought. Chrollo smiled up at him, tugging on his hair until he laid back down. “Calm down before you rip your stitches. Kalluto checked the computer stuff and verified that the hit had been taken down.” He leaned in and kissed him gently, his hand on his cheek. “We did it, Silva. You didn’t get shot for nothing.”

“How comforting,” he breathed, going in for another kiss, this time deeper. “It would have been a rather lackluster way to die, especially if you wrecked my car in the process.”

Chrollo frowned against his lips, leaning up to pout. “Silva, that’s not funny,” he told him, running his hands gently along his shoulders.

Raising a brow, Silva laughed despite the look on his face. It actually was funny, but for someone who avoided conflict like Chrollo, he probably didn’t understand the humor that came with the territory. “So long as you got out okay,” he smiled, cupping his hip with his hand to feel the softness of his curves.

“You let me go first.” Chrollo’s lips trembled a bit, his white teeth sinking into the full bottom lip as he spoke. “Silva, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt if you’d used your grip yourself.”

So that’s what was bothering him. Even injured, he was still strong enough to pull him back down, kissing him deeply. “I would have done it again,” Silva whispered, kissing along his cheeks. “You don’t have armor. I can take a few bullets for you. I’d take worse if it meant keeping you out of harm’s way.”

“You always say that,” he heard muttered, the only warning he go before Chrollo pulled away.

“Hey, I’m fine,” Silva tried, but Chrollo wouldn’t look at him. Instead, he turned towards the kitten and gathered the creature in his arms, moving towards the door. “Chrollo, I—”

The door shut and Silva stared at it, wondering if he had it in him to go chasing the thief down. He looked to his bandaged thigh, gritting his teeth when he tried to move it. It hurt, but then again, he’d done more with far worse.

Just as he was readying himself to swallow the pain and get up, the door opened and Chrollo came back in, face unreadable. “You better not have been about to stand up,” he said quietly, locking the door behind his back.

Silva relaxed back into the pillows, hiding his sigh of relief. So he hadn’t said something terrible. “Not anymore,” he returned, watching silently as Chrollo came back up to the bed. He was alone, no sign of soft black fur on his person.

“Where’s the kitten?”

Chrollo rolled his eyes, climbing back onto the mattress to straddle his hips. “Why? You want Licorice more than you want me?”

Eyes widening, Silva stared up at the gorgeous thief. “Am I getting you right now?” he asked, bringing his uninjured hand up to stroke down Chrollo’s thigh. It wasn’t as if he would say no to it, but he was wounded. He didn’t think Chrollo would be the type to risk aggravating it just for a chance to get off.

Lips as soft as rose petals brushed his own, the kiss chaste and sweeter than anything he’d ever felt before. Chrollo looked at him with dark eyes, tangling his fingers in his hair. “Will you have me now?” he asked softly, kissing him again. “Silva, I was so scared for you. You say you’re fine, but I was so scared. You can’t do that sort of thing for me. I don’t want you to. I just want you.”

His heart pounded in his chest. “Chrollo…” he murmured, pulling the cat down for another kiss, this one deeper. Their tongues caressed teasingly, their usual roaring fire replaced by kindling embers. Silva moved his mouth to Chrollo’s throat, missing the collar but thankful for what he still had. “I’ll have you for as long as you want me.”

Chrollo closed his eyes, melting into the touch. Like this, it was easy to forget how dangerous he was, to forget and ignore all that he hid behind his lovely face and pretty words. Silva drew his hand up the thief’s body, sneaking it beneath his thin top to touch the soft skin hidden from him.

“Gently, Chrollo, gently,” he hissed when he got a little too excited, rolling their hips together hard enough to jostle him.

“Oh, should we not be doing this right now?” Chrollo asked, only just seeming to realize how he was positioned and the injuries too fresh to test. A frown threatened to overpower the heat in his eyes, his small hands clenching in Silva’s shirt. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Silva was pretty sure he’d let Chrollo set him on fire so long as it kept him from stopping. “I’ll be fine,” he assured him, cradling his head in his hand to kiss him. “Just take it slow.”

“But I don’t like taking it slow.” Soft hands slid beneath the waistband of his sweats, fondling Silva. “I want to feel you.”

He could only gasp and lay back, letting Chrollo’s clever hands work him to hardness. Every second found his breathing growing quicker, the urge to move and drag Chrollo onto him harder to resist. “Ahh, Chrollo,” he moaned, looking up at the beautiful thief, “you feel so good.”

There was a small smile, followed by a mischievous look, before Chrollo went lower and curled between his legs. “I’m glad,” he whispered, brushing his lips along his aching cock. “Let me make it better.”

The first pass of his tongue sent flamed licking down his spine. Silva ignored the pain and shoved a pillow behind his head, propping himself up enough to allow him to watch Chrollo work. He had been right to want this. Chrollo looked so at home on him, his dark eyes so intent on what he was doing. Soft lips kissed the head of his cock, a pink tongue teasing along the shaft.

He was beautiful. Everything about him made Silva’s head spin, from the purse of his lips when he kissed to the hollows of his cheeks when he sucked. Silva began to sweat, the heat building like a fire beneath the surface of his skin.

“Come up here,” he ordered, lifting a hand to tug gently at Chrollo’s hair. “Let me touch you too.”

Chrollo whined around him, the vibrations making him wince. Pulling away with a quiet pop, he pouted at Silva, letting his wet, flushed cock rest against his soft cheek. “But I want you to finish in my mouth,” he murmured, his voice a tad rough from the abuse.

Silva’s cock twitched at the thought, and for a moment, he almost allowed it. Gritting his teeth, he tugged at the hair, bringing Chrollo up to lay along his chest. There would be time for that later, he told himself. There’d be time for everything later.

“I want us to finish together,” he told the thief, looking down at the hardness teasing the front of Chrollo’s tight jeans. “You’ve been so good. Let me see how beautiful you look like this.”

The praise did as he wanted it to. Chrollo’s cheeks reddened and he bit his swollen lip, opening up his jeans to free himself. “Don’t be embarrassing,” he whispered, flicking his gaze up to meet his stare. A muted moan built in his chest, rolling them together, his small hand stroking in time to his quick breaths.

Silva smiled at the sight he made, dragging his good hand up Chrollo’s slim hip, along his ribs, until the tank top was hiked up under his arm. “That doesn’t sound like me,” he chuckled, loving the warmth of his hand around his length. “I’m just happy.”

“Happy?” Chrollo leaned down, brushing their lips together as he twist his hand. “Why would you be happy?”

“I’ve finally got you,” Silva breathed, stroking his thumb over the soft skin. Ignoring the pain, he moved his other arm to take hold of Chrollo’s naked hip. “You’re safe and you’re mine.”

Chrollo pouted again, shuddering as a wave of pleasure rolled down his spine. “You can’t own me,” he gasped, burying his moan in Silva’s mouth. “Stop trying to own me, Silva. I wanna like you but you make it hard.”

“You make me hard,” Silva teased, using his grip to move Chrollo against him faster. “Is it really so bad?” he asked, “I just want you to stay with me. You like it here, don’t you? You could stay.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this right now,” Chrollo complained, too worked up to simply leave, “I’ve got my own life. My own place. I don’t want to give it all up just so you can hold me down.” His hand went even faster, chasing the release just out of reach. His forehead met Silva’s shoulder, his lips kissing and sucking at his ear while he moaned, “Silva, I’m so close.”

He was too, but he held off on saying it so he could take control of the pace, dragging Chrollo against him harder until the pain of his injuries bled seamlessly along with the pleasure. “You’re so beautiful,” he sighed, watching with eager eyes when Chrollo came a moment later, his face open and expression devastating.

Chrollo buried his moan in a kiss, stroking even faster to ride out the afterglow of his orgasm and drag Silva along, sending him over with another twist of his wrist. His hand was a mess, but he didn’t seem to care. It streaked along the dark sheets when he wiped his palm clean.

If Silva had the ability to care, he might have said something about it. As it was, all he could bring himself to do was kiss the thief and savor the momentary break from the dull ache the wounds brought. So long as Chrollo was around, he could handle any pain.

Breathing hard and heavy in his ear, Silva coaxed Chrollo’s chin up so they could meet eyes. “I meant what I said,” he murmured, cupping his soft face in his hand. “I want you. I can’t imagine not having you.” Dark eyes looked anywhere but at him, and Silva sighed, stroking his thumb along a sharp cheekbone. “Stay with me.”

Chrollo sighed, turning his head to kiss the palm cradling his cheek. They were already beginning to lose their blush, his heart beat calming slowly. “Silva…” he sighed, looking anything but eager.

Something told him to kiss him, so he did. It was chaste compared to their other ones, but deep enough to bring some of his rosy flush back. Silva pulled away reluctantly, wondering if this were the only way to keep Chrollo near.

“Please,” he said softly, feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I can’t put another collar on you like this, so what’s the harm in staying?”

“What about once you’re better?” Chrollo asked, his voice a bit hard. “Silva, you make it hard to want to be with you. I’m not the type who’d be content being locked away from any sign of danger. I have my own life and I intend to live it the way I please.”

Biting his lip, Silva held back the urge to frown. “You don’t trust me at all, do you?” he sighed, bringing his hand down to Chrollo’s bare shoulder. He looked so young like this, even with his hard, unflinching stare. Just a kid.

Chrollo shifted. His gaze didn’t soften. “How could I?”

And he was completely right. How could he? Silva looked up towards the ceiling, remembering everything he’d done, every liberty he’d taken without permission. Chrollo had given him an inch and he’d taken a league, taking and taking until Chrollo was backed into a corner unable to find his way back alone. For someone so painfully independent, it must have been torture having to trust someone else to lead him home.

There was nothing to say to defend himself, so Silva stayed silent.

That wasn’t enough for Chrollo. The thief cocked his head and narrowed his eyes, jerking his attention back to him. “Aren’t you going to try and convince me otherwise?” he asked, resting his hands on Silva’s chest.

“Not really,” Silva gave, letting his hands fall to the mattress. He probably didn’t deserve to touch him either. If he were really going to leave, it’d probably be better if he didn’t drag it out.

Chrollo fidgeted, staring down at him with confused eyes. “Not really?” he repeated, frowning. “You’re not going to beg me to consider your intentions? Your logic? Your heartbroken kid who’d never recover if I left without a trace?”

Silva looked up and it was his turn to frown. “I wouldn’t try to guilt trip you with my own son,” he said, offended. “He’d be sad, but it’s your life, Chrollo. What he or I want isn’t going to have any bearing on what you do. You don’t owe us that.”

He looked stunned. “That doesn’t sound like you at all,” he murmured, staring down at him as if he’d grown a second head. “Aren’t you going to fight at all? It’s not very romantic if you don’t try to at least talk me into changing my mind.”

“I want you. I can’t stand the thought of not having you. You make my life infinitely better and more frustrating the more I’m near you.” Silva looked up at him, resting a single hand on the thief’s slender thigh. “I’ve said this all before, and it’s all I’ve got.”

Chrollo blushed, averting his eyes like the child he was. “You’re so blunt,” he complained.

“Would you rather me talk in circles like you?” Silva asked, rubbing along his leg. “If you want to talk limits, then we can set limits. If you want nothing to do with me, then…”

“Then?” Chrollo probed, looking back at him.

Silva sighed, swallowing the bitterness the words brought up. “Then I’ll be unhappy, but I’ll leave you alone,” he promised, hating the idea to the very marrow of his bones. “Just. If you want to stay, please, just stay.”

He wasn’t expecting the thief to fall forward and bury his face in his neck, hiding from him. Narrow shoulders trembled a bit, Chrollo’s strong arms wrapping around him, as if it were Silva who was at risk of leaving. Silva brought his hands up to hold him, ignoring the twinge of pain the movement elicited.

“I want to stay,” he whispered, so quiet it was nearly lost in the sound of their breathing. “Silva, I want to stay. I want to leave too. I want to be able to leave and be on my own but come back to you.”

Kissing his cheek, Silva let out a soft laugh. “You’re just like a cat,” he mused, comforting the boy while he struggled to contain all he was feeling. “We can make it work if that’s what you want. I’m not a good pet owner, so you’ll have to be patient with me and tell me what works and what doesn’t.”

“I’m not your pet,” Chrollo mumbled, chuffing out an annoyed breath that carefully hid the waiver in his voice.

“You’re not,” Silva said, guiding him away from his hiding place. Dark eyes glistened, his cheeks and nose a bit red. With his raw, targeted charge stripped away, all he looked like was a young man, overcome with the thought of being able to belong somewhere.

Before Chrollo could say something, a knock came from the door.

“I should get that,” the thief whispered, staring at him.

“Yeah, probably,” Silva answered, leaning in to kiss him one last time before he got up.

His warmth left quickly when he maneuvered himself from Silva’s lap, slipping onto the floor with a grace that defied logic. Silva tugged the blankets up to cover the stained sheets, shifting a bit to make sure the bed looked undisturbed by less than restful activities.

The lock clicked and the door opened, Chrollo moving back quickly to let Kalluto peek inside. “Hey there, kitten,” he greeted, hiding his unsteady voice behind a bright smile. “Come to check on him?”

“Yeah,” he replied shyly, coming inside. His eyes were wide, staring at Silva. In his arms, he held the basket of kittens, the calico twins doing their best to escape from the slippery sides. “I thought maybe they’d make you feel better.”

“Aw, how sweet,” Chrollo cooed, shutting the door behind the boy before helping him carry the basket to the bed. He snatched up the tiger kitten, Pudding, and cradled the fluffy cat to his cheek. Silva’s heart pounded a little as he watched. It was obvious that the thief needed the comfort the kitten brought, especially after the emotional outpouring he’d had to swallow so suddenly.

“How are you feeling, dad?”

Silva looked away from Chrollo, taking in his youngest. “I’m fine,” he said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “You’ve seen me take worse than this.” The kittens tumbled out of the basket and onto the bed, rooting around in the sheets for treats they wouldn’t find. He marveled at them for a moment, taking in how much space they covered. “These guys just get bigger every time I see them.”

The small grey kitten dug its claws into the covers, climbing valiantly up his leg to wander into his lap. He stroked down its soft back, tickling its stomach when it tipped over on the unsteady ground.

Kalluto crawled up onto the bed too. He looked like he wanted to say something. Silva could only imagine what.

“How are you doing, kitten?” Chrollo asked, diving in when Silva hesitated to broach the subject. He settled in beside the boy, the kitten in his lap and his hand around the child’s back. “He may get hurt a lot like this but it’s still pretty scary, right?”

“Not really,” he admitted, and Silva huffed out a laugh, pride swelling to the surface.

“Oh?” Chrollo asked, a little surprised. “Then what’s up?”

The boy took them both in, watching the kitten in Silva’s lap bat at his hand the more he teased its stomach. “I just wanted to know how long Chrollo was going to stay….Gotoh wanted to know if he needed to set an extra place at the table—”

Try as he might, he couldn’t keep his words from rushing, “—and the kittens are getting so big, he didn’t know when to start them on the solid food, and how to train them, ‘cause they’re starting to teeth and scratch more and this place is full of expensive things, so it’s a bit overwhelming, and I’m- I mean, he’s worried.”

So he was Chrollo now, not Stray. Silva gave the thief a look, guessing they had gotten to talking and bonding again while he’d been unconscious. The kitten mewled up at him, eager to keep playing when his hand stopped moving.

Chrollo stared down at the boy, his eyes wide and lips parted. “You really want me to stay?” he breathed, more astonished than put off by Kalluto’s hurried plea. “You like me that much?”

Kalluto bit his lip and held tighter to the kitten in his arms. “Yeah, Chrollo, I think you’re great,” he admitted, staring down at the furry mass doing its best to escape his lap. “And I think dad likes you a lot too, so. Will you stay?”

“Kalluto.” Clearing his throat, he tried to figure out a way to answer him without making Chrollo’s decision harder. He forced himself forward, moving alongside them with the kitten meowing with discontent. As much progress as they’d made, they’d hardly scratched the surface of figuring out what they were and all Chrollo wanted.  “It’s, that’s—” he started, only to be cut off by Chrollo before he could finish his thought.

“Just to help with the kittens?” he asked to Kalluto, his voice shaking just a bit. To anyone else, it would be missed, but to them, it was as loud as a gunshot. “Right?”

Kalluto rested his hand on Chrollo’s shoulder, smiling up at him with an innocence that only a child could possess. “Yeah,” he said, giving Chrollo the excuse he sorely needed. “I wanna be the best cat parent, and I can’t learn that all on my own.”

There was a beat of silence, and then another. For a moment, Silva almost wondered if he’d bolt. He wrapped a hand around his waist, holding him to his side. But the moment passed and Chrollo relaxed the white knuckled grip he had on the sheets beneath him, leaning into his embrace.

“Don’t worry, kitten. I’ll make you the best cat parent this world’s ever seen,” he promised with a watery smile. He wrapped his arms around Kalluto, hugging him tightly to hide from him how his lips trembled. Dark, damp eyes stared at Silva though, telling him all he needed to hear. “After all, all cats deserve a good home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you guys had as much fun reading this as i had writing it! ill do an epilogue too once im a bit more rested up, so keep an eye out for that. please leave a comment and let me know how you liked it, and check me out on tumblr (terminallydepraved)!! until next time~


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> decided to do an epilogue so heres the last bit of this universe! enjoy~

Silva sighed into his flute of champagne, grabbing the slender wrist before sticky fingers snatched the emerald necklace from the unsuspecting partygoer. “Have you seriously learned nothing?” he hissed, forcing the corners of his mouth to quirk up into a smile when the woman turned back to look at them. “I thought you said you hated emeralds?”

Chrollo huffed and gave him the sweetest smile, feigning innocence. “Oh, Silva,” he whispered back, looking down at the arm now looped through his own, “I do hate them. That’s why I want to steal it and then throw it off the balcony. She won’t miss it, stop being such a killjoy.”

“You’re absolutely incorrigible,” Silva said, tightening his grip and tugging Chrollo far from the guests and their tempting finery. The evening had been as boring as he’d expected, but the added chore of babysitting his own date was beginning to drag the night from tiresome to just plain annoying. “It’s because of this sort of behavior that you get yourself into so much trouble.”

A winsome smile did little to soften his frustration, the small hand tugging at his tie not as cute as Chrollo seemed to think it was. “But Silva, I just want to make the night a little more fun,” he whispered, going up on his tip toes to kiss him chastely.

If Chrollo wanted the kiss to disarm him, it might have worked better if he hadn’t tried to slip off Silva’s watch in the process. He let him have it, hoping that would at least occupy him for the moment. “You’re such a brat,” Silva sighed, leaning in to kiss him again. “You better stay the night tonight so I can punish you properly for being such a nuisance.”

“Mmm, maybe,” he replied, going in for another kiss, this one deeper. “You could always just come to my place. It’s been forever since we’ve done it over there.”

Silva rolled his eyes, stroking down Chrollo’s back. In his suit, he looked every ounce the minx he was, legs long and waist narrow, a temptation with every move he made. “That’s because you never clean,” he teased, tucking a lock of hair behind the thief’s ear. They were being awfully public with their affections, but at this point, it was already too late to matter. As packed as the party was, he knew the gossip of his latest boy toy would spread to the news channels in time for the eleven o’clock news.

“Silvy!” a familiar voice shrieked, and Silva pressed his forehead to Chrollo’s temple. Forget the news channels, he thought. Dolores would alert the entire eastern seaboard before the cocktails were handed out.

“Dolores,” he greeted, pushing Chrollo behind him while he turned to meet the flustered woman. “What a pleasure it is to see you again. Is that Dior?”

His attempts were half-assed and she knew it, looking between Silva and Chrollo with her hands on her hips and her lips pursed. “Do you have someone to introduce me to, Silvy?” she pressed, looking for all the world like a jilted lover.

Silva opened his mouth to say something, he wasn’t quite sure yet what, but Chrollo beat him to the punch, darting around him to take Dolores’s hand in his own. “Have we not met?” he asked, his smile far more charming when applied to people unused to his wiles. “I’m Chrollo Lucilfer, madam.”

Her hand met his lips and she softened immediately, blushing behind her rouge. Silva kept his face unreadable, watching as Chrollo stole her sapphire bracelet off her wrist. “Oh my, well, I’m Dolores Aberdeen.” Flicking between Chrollo and Silva, she didn’t seem to know how to proceed in the wake of Chrollo’s pure charisma. “Are you two close?” she asked, going straight for the throat.

Chrollo, naturally, instead of playing off their proximity as something benign, plastered himself to Silva’s side like the priciest of escorts. “Not really,” he teased, lifting himself higher to kiss Silva’s stunned cheek. “Mr. Zoldyck here needed some art appraised and well, I suppose he did a little appraising himself.”

If Silva had been drinking anything, he would have choked on it. Instead though, he settled on smiling, wrapping an arm around Chrollo’s waist hard enough to bruise. “Chrollo, behave,” he chuckled, wanting nothing more than to toss the thief off the balcony with the rest of the jewelry that didn’t make the cut. “I’m sorry, Dolores, he’s had a bit too much champagne tonight.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright, Silvy,” she tittered, more charmed than jealous now. “He is a young little thing. How long have you been dating?”

Chrollo pouted, but didn’t get snippy. Silva stroked his thumb along his hipbone, hoping he’d stay quiet. “Not long,” he told her. “I came across some old art in the manor belonging to my grandfather and Gerard gave me his card.”

“We’ve been inseparable ever since,” Chrollo piped up. “Silva especially. He’s such a needy man, always wanting to keep me on a leash so I don’t wander off.”

Silva swallowed hard, ignoring the innocent smile.

Dolores, at least, just looked charmed. “Oh, how sweet,” she exclaimed, looking up at Silva with something new in her eyes. “I had no idea you were so passionate and affectionate, Silvy. Why, that’s enough to make a woman swoon.”

“It certainly worked for me,” Chrollo sighed, and Silva wondered how his life had gotten to this point.

If it was already this bad, he might as well go whole hog. Lifting Chrollo up a few inches, he kissed him on the mouth, stealing the thief’s breath while Dolores pretended to avert her eyes. “I’m glad it did,” he murmured once they pulled apart, Chrollo’s dark eyes hazy. “It would have been terrible if you’d made me chase you down.”

“Could you imagine?” Chrollo smiled, slipping Dolores’s bracelet into his back pocket with a well-coordinated hand on his ass. “You sound like you’d put a collar on me if you could.”

Silva sighed, too fond to be annoyed at being made an accomplice in his petty theft. He brought his hand up to Chrollo’s neck, feeling the strong pulse kiss his palm. It felt right. Better than the collar had, and Chrollo leaned into his touch, accepting it far more readily besides.

Dolores cleared her throat, but neither of them really cared enough to look. “You two certainly are enamored,” she complained, crossing her arms.

Looking into Chrollo’s dark eyes, drowning in the mirror of want reflected back at him, Silva could only agree.

**Author's Note:**

> you know how it is with the long chaptered stuff, comments buy you updates so let me know what you think!


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